Who Knows, Someday I'll Win Too
by Harpokrates
Summary: Pre-series. All love stories start somewhere. Some just start off on the wrong foot, and continue spiraling downwards. Based largely on Bringing up Baby.
1. The Baddest Part of Town

Knock Out scowled, then grunted and brought down his saw on the corpse's damaged arm. The metal was bent beyond repair, and the wires were burned through with heat and syk. No wonder this unfortunate fighter had lost his match. He shifted his saw back to his hand, frowning as the energon smeared across his fingers.

"Well," he muttered to himself, "that's done. Ah, let's see. Stripping the armor."

He was deep into the task when a knock on the door interrupted him. He glanced up. A thin mech with brittle armor was standing in the doorway, a loader sled hovering behind him, piled with a body. Ah. A scavenger.

"Ah, yes. Just dump him on the table with the rest," Knock Out waved his hand vaguely, splattering the scavenger with gore, "I'll deal with him in a moment."

The scavenger pressed a quivering hand against the glowing energon speckled across his face—a newbie, how cute—and scrambled to pile the body on the growing stack of corpses. Megatronus was a very efficient gladiator; Knock Out owed him for the sudden demand in employment. Although, Knock Out sneered as he surveyed the _absolute_ _mess_ that currently constituted his operating room, perhaps Megatronus owed _him_ for the small fortune he spent on solvent in a vain attempt to keep everything sterile.

"I get money for this, right?" The scavenger stammered, "Fifteen shanix? That's what the other 'bots say."

Knock Out shooed him absently. Something detached itself from the mess on his hand. Oh, dear. He sauntered over and plucked a loose gear off of the scavenger's slack face.

"That's not supposed to be there," he admonished playfully, flinging it back onto body. The scavenger looked sick. "Yes, fifteen shanix per loser. Tell whomever is on payroll that you brought me a class," Knock Out glanced at the body, "hm, four corpse, so they can log it."

"T-thanks," the scavenger turned to flee. Knock Out squinted at the back of his head. Two, neat holes scarred the base of his skull, ringed by scorch marks. Circuit boosters, that explained some of his jumpiness, although he couldn't have been too far along in his addiction, given that he bothered to remove the spent casing, rather than leave the empty booster embedded in his skull. It was common practice among the very addicted, stemming from rumors that the buzz lasted the longer you kept the circuit booster plugged in. It was foolish, and wrong, and Knock Out had the letters behind his name to prove that he knew what he was talking about, even if they didn't mean much anymore.

"Hmph," Knock Out blew air from his vents and returned to the body on which he had been working. It was fairly typical, as gladiators went, taller than him, and much broader. It might have been green at some point, but scrapes, charring, and energon muddled the armor color into something incomprehensible. It was fairly well destroyed—Megatronus gave the crowds what they wanted—and really, he wasn't going to get much more out of it, unless he wanted to take up syphoning.

Eugh.

He scrubbed his hands clean with a rag and jabbed at the controls for the operating table, dumping the remains of the body off to the side. The truly loathsome scavengers—the ones who smelted corpses for the next hit of Syk—would come later to retrieve it. Knock Out tugged the magnetic claw in the ceiling over to the pile of bodies. He had been forged with delicate surgery in mind, not hauling bodies back and forth between the gurney and his operating table. A little mechanical help wasn't unwarranted.

Knock Out deposited the next body on the table. It was fairly large, as these things went, smaller than Megatronus, but larger than Knock Out himself, which left quite a large margin for error.

Color-wise, the bot had been either blue or black, with a faceplate in some contrasting warm color. A bit unfashionable, but not entirely odd. No mechanism alive would catch _Knock Out_ looking like that, but maybe fighting to the death in some dank pit changed your perspective on things like fashion.

He snorted a burst of static and dragged a large set of pryers over to the 'bot.

"Size twelve, I should think," he muttered to himself, "you're a big fellow, which means," he grunted, clasping the grips of the machine onto the edges of the body's chestplate, "big armor."

Knock Out stepped back and let the pryer do its work, slowly but steadily pulling the armor away from the body. It technically was possible to do this by hand, and the armor looked nicer once it was pulled off, but it took forever, and Knock Out was paid by the kiloton, not by the aesthetic of individual pieces of armor.

He squinted at the battered circuitry under the armor as the piece lifted up and away.

"Hmm," he prodded at some loose wiring, "concussive damage, blaster charring, but no burning or shear marks. Well, you couldn't have been fighting Megatron or Grimlock, then. They tend to leave _distinctive_ marks, if you catch my meaning."

They also tended to leave fewer pieces.

"Now, if it wasn't those two, then you either met Motormaster or Brawl. Either of them would explain all this blunt force trauma. Or, you went up in some no billing debtor's match against some equally helpless wretch," he patted the corpse's face, "how embarrassing. But don't you worry, I'm marvelous at keeping secrets, and, as they say, dead mechs tell no tales."

He pulled away. He tried to pull away. Knock Out froze, then slowly looked down the length of his arm. There was his elbow, his wrist, his hand, the hand clamped around his hand…

"Not. Dead." The body on the table grunted, yellow eyes blazing like a storm.

"Eugh," Knock Out snatched his hand away. The body—well, it was still _mostly_ a body—collapsed, his eyes flickering into darkness.

He stared at it for a moment, then commed payroll.

"What is it this time, Knock Out?"

Knock Out ignored the slight. "One of your scavengers seems to have brought me a body."

"Yes, that's what they do. That's what we pay them to do."

"Well, perhaps you should consider paying them a little less, because this body isn't quite dead. This is the fourth time this has happened, you know. I'm just glad I spotted it before I started getting at his spark chamber."

Knock Out heard the static sigh of vented air.

"Give me a moment," the 'bot at payroll grumbled, "and let me look through the records."

"What records? His death record? Because I can assure you it's wrong, considering he just spoke to me."

" _No_ , the medical orders. I sent down dozens of scavengers; I want to see if, ah—"

"What?"

"Hmm, I'm looking at the list of survivors. Er, is he red, class three?"

"No, he's dark blue, class four. Look, does this have any bearing on anything?"

"Blue, class four?" There was the clatter of datapads over the speaker. "There seems to have been a mistake then. I sent him down for repairs, not deconstruction."

"Repairs? Hm. I'd better turn off the pryer then, shouldn't I?" Knock Out switched the machine off. It powered down with a whirr, and the 'bot on the table seemed to relax a bit in his unconsciousness. "You know this wouldn't happen if you identified the bodies, like I suggested."

"Look, if you want to try and attach a name to an arm and a scrap of leg, you be my guest, but until then, you can stay down in your basement lab and cut apart bodies, alright?"

The 'bot dropped the line. Knock Out stared at it. He snorted and sent a ping over to Hook's crew, telling the surgeon to send over someone to haul off the mechanism.

"Well, _somebody's_ a little touchy."

He looked over the body, and vainly tried to tug the armor back into place. It didn't work.

"Oh, Hook will have my head if he finds out _I_ did this," he started pacing. His equipment was meant to take 'bots apart, not put them back together. Knock Out chewed his lips and drummed his fingers against the edges of the table. Well… it was a touch undignified, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

He grabbed onto the magnetic claw for balance and stepped onto the operating table. His feet barely fit around the 'bot's mass, and he had to balance on the jointed segment of his toes if he wanted any chance at all of standing. Still, he kept most of his weight on the claw.

"Alright," he pressed a foot on the protruding armor, "let's get this back where, agh, it, hng, belongs."

Knock Out leaned over the 'bot to inspect his work. No change. He sighed.

"The things I do for you," he grunted, standing fully on top of the armor. His weight pressed it down, just a tad. He stepped off. It sprung back into place.

So, it was like that.

Knock Out stood on the armor and bounced a bit. It sank down. He flashed a nervous glance to the door. Hook's crew would be here soon. He bit his lip, and jumped again.

"Alright," he grunted between jumps, "would—you—just—go—down!"

Several things happened all at once: the armor finally—thankfully—snapped back, flush with the body, Knock Out's foot hit a snag and he stumbled, and the magnetic claw decided it had enough of Knock Out's antics and plummeted from the ceiling

Then the 'bot woke up.

"Slag!" he howled in pain as Knock Out came down on top of him, followed closely by the claw. Knock Out covered his head with his hands and waited for the rust to settle. He took account of his faculties. A dozen or so minor damage reports sprung up in his HUD—mostly dents along his back—along with a slightly more insidious blown rotator cuff in his left ankle. The magnet claw had been powered off when it fell, so it was currently lying on the floor, accompanied by about half of its supporting mechanism from the ceiling.

Knock Out pushed himself up from the 'bot and patted his chest. The armor creaked.

"There," he coughed static and waved his hand in front of his face, "all fixed."

"Wha' happened?" the 'bot groaned through a shattered jaw. With the way his systems heaved and sputtered under him, Knock Out was impressed he was still functional, much less asking questions.

"Well," Knock Out arranged himself more comfortably, "I imagine—and this is just speculation, mind, given that I never watch the fights—that you found yourself in a match, and got _completely_ slagged."

"Didn't lose. Won—fight."

"Hm, what was that? I couldn't hear you over your entire body falling apart. You honestly expect me to think you won?"

"Should see—other guy."

Knock Out snorted and pushed himself to his feet, careful to avoid the bodies and the claw. "I must have sorely underestimated you. Here you are, in my morgue, looking for all the world like Primus snatched you up and tossed you down, and what do you do? You find the energy to make jokes." Knock Out patted his shoulder, ignoring his pained flinch, "I'm impressed."

The 'bot opened his mouth to respond, but was interrupted by the door creaking open.

"Knock Out," Scrapper shoved the door open, kicking aside a bit of metal, "Hook says you have a patient—what happened to the ceiling?"

"Oh, that," Knock Out waved nonchalantly, "haven't a clue. It was like that when I got here."

"Uh huh. And I'm sure you had nothing to do with that crash earlier, either."

"What crash?" Knock Out had perfected his guiltless face long ago.

"The crash that happened a minute ago. The one that sounded like a magnet claw falling from the ceiling."

Knock Out pressed a finger to his mouth. "What a curiously specific sound. But I'm afraid I have no _idea_ what you're talking about. Perhaps it was your imagination?"

"My imagination?"

"Of _course_ ," Knock Out stepped over a corpse and tapped Scrapper on the chest, "stress, lack of a proper recharge, overworking. It can all cause visual or auditory hallucinations." His face twisted in mock concern. "Perhaps you should get it checked out?"

"You're full of slag," Scrapper swatted Knock Out as he picked his way over to the operating table. The 'bot on the table was doing his best to keep track of him, but kept flickering in and out of awareness. "So, this is the patient?"

"Yes," Knock Out rubbed the side of his face. It ached, but really, what was one more dent among dozens?

"Big guy. Looks like he went through a thrasher."

"He won whatever match they stuck him in."

Scrapper snorted. "By the paint, yeah? Help me get him up."

"Me?" Knock Out gestured to himself, incredulous. Lifting things was for steel-heads and machinery.

"Yes, _you_." Scrapper maneuvered around the table, "Grab his feet. Besides, Hook needs you for ah, some processor thing. A lateral chip compressor replacement or something."

"Really?" Knock Out's curiosity overcame his irritation, and he grabbed the 'bot's massive feet, "Who is it? Chip compressors are expensive; I can't imagine anyone down here makes enough to shell out that kind of shanix."

"You'd be right," Scrapper took his half of the 'bot and backed out of the door, towards the infirmary, "it's some senate guy from up top."

"Sounds scandalous," Knock Out grunted, shifting his grip, "Why not just go to a clinic? He could actually have a standing for litigation if anything went wrong—oops."

Scrapper sighed as Knock Out heaved the 'bot's feet off of the ground.

"He's heavy," Knock Out snapped.

Scrapper rolled his eyes and continued walking. "Hook didn't tell me much. As far as I'm aware, he's some chrome dome who needs the chrome polished."

"You know," Knock Out huffed, "Hook could have the decency to tell me I needed to prep for surgery today. Just as a bit of _common courtesy_."

"Hook doesn't give a scraplet's fender about your sensibilities. Get used to it. Turn left here, through that door."

Knock Out would have retorted, but his vents were too busy desperately trying to cool down his straining frame. He was not built for heavy lifting! He took the turn and dumped the 'bot's legs on the nearest free operating table. Then, he slumped to the ground.

"I hope Hook knows you're trying to kill his neurosurgeon," he snapped, trying and failing to force his vents shut, to maintain at least the semblance of dignity.

Knock Out pushed himself to his feet and glared at the ground, the walls, and the medbay in general. It was decently sized, as these things went—six slabs in the general clinic, and two operating rooms. They had quite a lot of traffic, but none of their patients ever stayed long. It was something of a misconception that gladiators were poorly maintained. In fact, the top earners were probably some of the most repaired 'bots on Cybertron; it was just good business sense to keep one's wares in their best condition. They brought in more money that way.

"I'll tell him myself," Scrapper hauled the rest of the 'bot onto the slab and activated the energy bonds to secure him in place.

Knock Out gaped. "You have working energy bonds? Mine burnt out ages ago. Do you know how hard it is to keep a class six mech balanced on a class five rated slab? I'll give you an answer: very!"

"Not my fault you can't fix them yourself."

"Well, _excuse me_ for being a surgeon and not an electrician."

"You don't need to apologize; Primus made everyone for a reason." Scrapper said, rolling his eyes.

Knock Out gritted his teeth. "You know I supply most of the parts that come to this repair bay. It might behoove you to be a tad more _polite_."

Scrapper mouthed the word 'behoove' and scoffed. "Ah, put it in idle. We both know you're here because you're desperate. You piss off Hook and you're out a job."

"Why you—"

"Scrapper, Knock Out," a deep voice cut him off, echoing from one of the operating rooms. Ah, Hook. "I need you back here. Ground down."

Knock Out shot a nasty glare at Scrapper and shouldered past him. He snatched a small grounding clip from the table outside of the operating room and attached it to his hip, tucking the wire behind his back. The wire ran to the ceiling, where it eventually terminated in a piece of inert metal. Static charge was a real problem among moving beings made almost entirely of metal. Stick any number of them in a closed room, and the air quickly became heavy with static buzz. It wasn't normally a problem, as the outer plating protected any delicate innards from damage, but in processor surgery, those protective layers were removed, and an accidental static zap could erase a 'bot's entire personality core.

Knock Out tugged on the clip, to make sure it stayed in place. He had no wish to be pinned for the 'accidental' death of some high society rich mech. Again.

Hook already had the patient sedated and laid out on the operating table. Only the back of the patient's head was exposed, his body being covered with a surgical tarp. The new compressor was on the cart next to him, along with the surgical equiptment. Knock Out picked it up, twisting it this way and that to get a better look.

"Mint condition," he put it back on the table, "very expensive. You know who he got it from?"

"Not your business."

Knock Out tsked. "You know full well it's my business. I need to know the, ah, _donor_ source if you want this to work."

Hook grabbed a datapad and pushed it into Knock Out's chest as he passed, then ducked down to adjust the sedative flow. Knock Out flicked the pad on and scanned the screen.

"Did you do spark typing on him?" Knock Out flipped through the screens. "Hm, and I need his core model. Your donor is Thymiol negative; so we'll need to run a mechabody screen on the patient as well. Wouldn't want a rejection reaction, now would we?"

"Already done. Scrapper has the results."

Knock Out held his hand out for the next data pad. Scrapper tossed it at him and turned to help Hook.

He boggled. "He's got a Atrium 8900 core? That's ridiculous! Why on Cybertron and the two moons would he come _here_?"

"Not our job to ask questions," Hook reminded him.

"Pft. With the kind of money _he_ has, I can't imagine it's anyone's job to ask him questions. Hn. Well, the spark types match, so that'll be fine. And the," Knock Out flipped to the right screen and squinted, "the mechabody screen is negative. Probably never needed a donor before, so nothing unexpected there. Alright," he clapped and tossed the datapad onto the counter built into the wall, "let's get him propped up."

Scrapper already retrieved a brace from storage, and Hook held up the body while Knock Out made minute adjustments to his angle and positioning. He activated his old pre-surgical protocols and tilted the mech's head just slightly higher. There, perfect.

"Pin the head in place, 0.015 torrs. Clamps at 99.99% stability. Good. Let's pry him open, shall we?"

Knock Out flipped open the mech's data port and plugged a datapad in. It was technically more efficient to do a hardwire interface, but he was slagged if he was stupid enough to go rooting around in the program files of some rando. He could get viruses, daemons, who knew? Best not to risk it. Knock Out triggered the medical protocol for the 'bot's processor. His purple head fractured into a thousand tiny pieces and unfolded.

Knock Out let out a low whistle.

"Fancy," he muttered, adjusting the head to give himself more room, "haven't seen one of these since med school."

Scrapper snorted. "They let a student near someone rich enough to have an Atrium? Please."

"It was an _observation_. The War Minister's surgery, remember? For his," Knock Out gestured vaguely to the side of his head, "impulse glitch."

" _You_ went to Iacon Medical?" Scrapper raised a brow. "How'd you afford that?"

Knock Out didn't answer him. "I'll make an incision along the ventral axis and detach the current compressor. Then, we'll cut power for two point three microseconds and remove the processor," he explained to Hook. Scrapper was really just there to hand them tools, and even Hook was, to some extent, out of his depth. "Once that's out, we begin acclimating the new hardware and install it. Hopefully he won't start seizing. Any questions?"

Scrapper raised his hand. Knock Out ignored him.

"Let's get started then, shall we?"

* * *

Story title is from I Can't Give You anything but Love, Baby, by various artists, and the chapter title is from Bad, Bad, Leroy Brown, by Jim Croce.


	2. Now Leroy, he a gambler

Breakdown woke again. This time it was natural, not the result of some mad doctor prying off bits of his body or using him as a springboard.

He was dearly, dearly hoping that was just some sort of near death hallucination. Maybe a quick glimpse into the Inferno before some medic with a spark defibrillator dragged him back out. Still, if _that_ was hell, maybe it'd be a good time to start showing up at those little Spectralist sermons the local temple put on outside his apartment.

Hell, if he still had an apartment. Breakdown tried to raise his head and found he was too exhausted to do even that. He onlined his optics.

He was lying in what was clearly a medbay—probably the one under the coliseum, if the lack of natural light and ambient stink of dying metal meant anything. There were a few empty slabs to his right, and a maybe napping, maybe dead mech on his left. Other than his morbid roommate, the bay was empty. He heard vague, far off voices, but they were too muddled and distant to make out.

Whatever.

Breakdown shifted again. He was still too weak to do anything more than look around, and the octane—or the painkiller, if someone paid for it—was beginning to wear off. Pain, sharp and aching, introduced itself to a good three quarters of his body. What wasn't in pain was too numb to feel.

He wiggled his fingers. They hurt too, but at least they still worked.

Movement came back, little by little, as the pervasive weakness drained out of his body. Maybe it _was_ painkillers, or at the very least a sedative? Regular old exhaustion didn't feel like this. It gave him all the more reason to leave before whoever paid for him to get fixed came back. You didn't make an investment like that without expecting a huge return, and getting beaten half to death once was more than enough for him. Slowly, ever so slowly, he shuffled his feet over the side of the slab. The rest of his body quickly followed.

"Slag," he grunted into the floor, and got a mouth full of dust for his efforts. Breakdown pushed himself to his feet with great effort. His arms threatened to buckle for a second, but he managed to get his legs under himself before he collapsed. Again.

The medbay was still deserted, except for him and the mech on the slab. Good; it could stay that way. He used the slab to haul himself upright, vents gasping with even that minor exertion. Breakdown rested his weight on the slab and pushed himself along it, until he reached the counter along the wall. He quickly pushed himself over to it, sagging against it once his hands hit. Breakdown pressed his head against a plastisteel fronted cabinet. The plastisteel was scratched, and it made the contents blurry, but Breakdown thought he could see a bin of single use painkiller code chips. The cabinet was locked, otherwise he would have grabbed as many as he could subspace.

Even if he didn't like using them, they'd sell well, especially if he could convince Bulkhead to let him back into the construction site. Primus knew he'd need the money now.

The room stopped spinning, and his feet felt a little more solid, and a little less like they were half melted. Breakdown steeled himself and walked towards the door, touching the counter every so often to ensure he didn't collapse. The voices from the side room became clearer.

"—now, hand me the size four bracket. No, the other one!"

"There isn't any difference; they're identical!"

"They look nothing alike!"

Breakdown rubbed his head. He recognized the first voice, and had the vague impression that it was a bad thing. He took another step, and dizziness overcame him. He fell to his knees.

"What was that noise?"

"What makes you think I know?"

"Well, as you _said_ , this is _your_ medbay. I'd expect that you'd have some understanding of whatever noises it decides to produce."

"I said nothing like that!"

"You—"

"Shut up." That was a different voice, neither the one he recognized, or the other half of the argument. "Scrapper, see what it is. Knock Out, finish the—" The voice faltered.

"The compressor replacement, yes," the first voice, this Knock Out, sounded smug, "I can handle the rest on my own, thanks for your consideration. Just a few switch adjustments and another screen, and we'll be finished. I _will_ need you back to get him into recovery."

"I didn't ask."

Scrapper—the other voice—snorted. He sounded like he was coming closer. Breakdown renewed his efforts to push himself to his feet.

"Hook, it looks like it's just a—woah!"

Heavy footsteps pounded the floor, and a hand dropped into Breakdown's shoulder.

"How in the Pit are you up?" Scrapper turned him over, and rested him against the counter. He was big, and painted bright green. The treads in his legs and the shovel on his back suggested some sort of construction alt, maybe a payloader. "Hook, you need to come here!"

"What?"

"That big guy, the blue one! He's awake!"

"How badly did you screw up his anesthesia? Is our dear patient about to start jumping around too?"

"Ah, idle it!" Scrapper grunted and heaved Breakdown upright. Damn. Not only had he not managed to skedaddle before anyone noticed he was here, he had managed to piss off the medical staff. He'd heard what they did to mechs down here. After all, spare parts had to come from somewhere.

"Seriously, Hook, I need a hand here!"

"Coming." A big mech in the same searing shade of green came out of the back room. He leaned down and helped Scrapper haul Breakdown to his feet, and then back to the slab. Breakdown tried, feebly, to struggle, but the exhaustion made his spark sluggish, and he only managed to curl his fingers in protest.

"Are you two done?" Knock Out called. "I need a little assistance here, you know, with the _patient_ —the one with his _head_ split open, might I add. But if you two are too busy, then I understand _perfectly_. I'll just handle this myself. Alone. All the blame for this sad mech's inevitable death, placed on my poor overburdened shoulders. I—"

"Primus, do you ever shut up!?" Scrapper dropped Breakdown on the slab, leaving Hook to position him correctly.

Hook sighed. Breakdown had never heard a gust of air sound so resigned.

"Who paid to fix me?" Might as well ask the question now, and get it over with. His voice was weak, and he could barely hear himself, but Hook seemed to manage.

"Another gladiator. One of the victors."

Breakdown let his head fall back against the slab. Damn. It had to be someone successful, very successful. It wasn't often that gladiators—real gladiators, not hapless idiot debtors like himself—had money. Anything they earned went to their sponsors—owners, if you wanted to be less coy about it—and if they were voluntarily in the Pit, well, they weren't inclined to acts of charity.

"Who?" he croaked.

Hook shrugged. "Don't know. Don't care."

Breakdown opened his mouth—to say what, he wasn't sure—and a crash from the operating room cut him off.

"I said lay him down! Not slam him into the concrete!"

"If you'd bother helping me at all—"

"I _damaged_ my leg! Because _you_ made me carry that blue oaf!"

"I'll damage a lot more if you don't—"

There was a sharp yelp, the crash of metal, and the third doctor—the one Breakdown hadn't seen yet, Knock Out—darted from the back room. He blanched. Yes, he recognized that pretty face and the bright red paint job. He glanced down at his chest. Ugh.

"Control your assistant!" He hissed, ducking behind Hook.

"Is the procedure done?"

"What? Yes! He's fine—a little dented, but it's an easy fix—everything connected perfectly, full recovery, yadda yadda."

"Knock Out."

"Whaaat? Honestly, genuinely, the patient is fine. He needs to stay offline for another cycle—I've set a timer for you—but the component integrated naturally. I'd even suspect," his voice lowered to something conspiratorial, "that he had it _engineered_."

Hook seemed to recognize the term, because he slapped at Knock Out before returning to the operating room. Knock Out prodded the dent and cringed, then removed a long cord connecting him to the operating room. It flung back with a snap, narrowly missing Hook's head.

Knock Out tsked.

"Engineered?" Breakdown grunted.

Knock Out looked down at him, face coloring in recognition. He nervously tapped at Breakdown's chest, and relaxed when it held.

"Well," he leaned his hip against the slab, "I really _shouldn't_ tell you, but I'm weak for gossip. I never told you this," he wagged a finger in Breakdown's face. "Hn, where to start… You understand that you're made of parts, correct?"

Breakdown gave him a flat glare.

"Just checking!" Knock Out held his hands up defensively, "Well, ah, say you need a replacement, say a new energon pump. You can't just stick any old pump you find on the street in your chest; you need a compatible donor. If not, well…" Knock Out mimed something bursting, "it isn't pretty. You could get a new pump built by an engineer, maybe a CNC alt, but you can never be sure if they really work. Besides, it's expensive. Normal 'bots, like you or Scrapper over there, you'd do best to find something at a scrapyard, for cheap. It won't integrate to your systems very well, but it won't kill you. Rich 'bots though, well, they can buy anything. And honestly, some type matched leaker on the streets? That's nothing. Hell, _we_ only pay five shanix for leakers."

Breakdown must have curled his lip, because Knock Out patted him gently on the cheek.

"Oh, come now. You just tore another 'bot to bits to pay off, what, a gambling debt? I'm sure _you_ , of all mechanisms, would understand how worthless a life is." He coughed static. "Anyways, even the closest donor would only be a partial match—Primus make us special and all that slag—and the replacement won't mesh perfectly. Soooo, _some_ 'bots say, that the rich mechs—the ones with more shanix than they know what to do with—they, hm, _commission_ newsparks. _Identical_ newsparks, right down to the CNA. Clones. Spares, if you will. How else would you explain such a perfect match?"

"I wasn't gambling."

Knock Out rolled his eyes. "I tell you the most scandalous bit of gossip I can dredge up and you focus on _that_? Some 'bots…"

Breakdown remained silent, mulling over what the doctor had told him. Farming newsparks for replacements… Even the idea was sickening.

"Why?"

Knock Out looked down at him, and chewed his lip. "I suppose they want to live forever. Can you blame them?"

"Who paid to fix me?"

"That was some segue," Knock Out shrugged. "No clue. Remember, I didn't even know you were meant to be repaired—a _clerical_ error might I add. _Not_ my fault."

Breakdown rolled his eyes. "Can you check?"

"Check what?"

He was starting to sympathize with Scrapper.

"Medical records, bills, something. Who do I owe?"

Knock Out snorted. "You think we keep _records_ down here? I almost pulled you apart for scrap because they didn't bother to slap a name tag on you. But, ah, if you're worried about who you _owe_ , well… I'm sure they'll find you soon enough."

Not reassuring.

"The doctor, Hook," Breakdown said, "he said it was a gladiator."

"Oh?" Knock Out leaned closer, drawn by the possibility of more dirty plating, "did he?"

Breakdown grunted in the affirmative, and Knock Out pushed himself away from the table.

"Well," he began pacing, tapping his chin with his index finger, "they wouldn't necessarily need to have _that_ much money. You _are_ awake after all, which means no immediate processor damage. From what I saw when I was, ahem, _operating_ , your circuitry is slagged and will probably need to be replaced, but you're a class four, which is very common, especially in the Pit. That means finding replacements will be cheap and easy. No more than, hn, fifty shanix. Seventy if I have a bad day. Actually getting someone to _fix_ you… Hook would do it for a hundred. Scrapper for a little less than that."

"What about you?"

"Me?" Knock Out pressed a hand to his chest, "I'm not some _medic_."

"So you're a mortician?"

"No!" Breakdown had heard actual mechs being murdered that didn't sound as offended as Knock Out. "I am a _neurosurgeon_! Processors, idiot!" he reached down and sharply tapped the side of Breakdown's head.

Breakdown flinched away from the sensation. "Why are you down here? Don't they keep the fancy doctors in Iacon?"

Knock Out frowned and drew into himself, then quickly changed the subject. Had he touched a nerve? "I suppose Grimlock could have paid for your repairs, but he was never very altruistic. Motormaster is still under contract. Hm. Brawn or Brawl, perhaps? They make decent billing, even if they aren't very famous."

Breakdown struggled to remember back through the pain-muddled haze that had been his mind when he'd first woken up. "You said another M-name earlier. Megaton? Magnanimous?"

"Megatronus?"

"Yeah. Did he do it?"

"I," Knock Out trailed off and glanced down, "I suppose it could have been him. He's still under contract, but his, ah, sponsor is generous. Lets him get away with speaking after his matches, real radical stuff. He might've managed to pull a few favors for you. I wouldn't count on it."

"Why not?"

"How do I put this delicately? The last time I had an opponent of Megatronus in the morgue, there was perhaps, oh, half a head and an arm. He really doesn't seem to care who lives and who dies. He's brutal, for all he likes to wax poetic. Keeps him popular, and keeps the crowds listening. Anyways, why do you care who wanted you fixed? If they haven't shown up yet, they probably won't show up at all."

Breakdown remained silent. Under the tension that someone was going to hold this over his head and demand he jump on command, there was an old, deep seated sense of honor and obligation. Favors needed to be repaid. It kept him honest as he cared to be.

Of course, that niggling tendency towards honesty had netted him a beatdown in the Pit, so what did he know?

"When I get repaired, take me to Megatronus."

Knock Out raised a brow. "Pardon?"

"I said, when I get repaired, take me—"

"I heard what you said! What I _want_ to know, is why you think you can ask me to do anything?!"

"I wasn't asking," Breakdown fixed him with a stare.

Knock Out snorted. "I've never met someone so _rude_. What on Cybertron and the moons would ever compel me to help you?"

"Because I'll tell the doctor—Hook—you almost killed me if you don't."

Knock Out gaped. "That was not my fault! That was an identification error!" He hissed.

"I really don't think he'll care. He doesn't seem the type, and all things considered, you seem pretty desperate to keep your job."

Knock Out's face crumpled in rage. "You…" He forced the word through gritted teeth like it was an oath.

"Just let me talk to this Megatronus. Then, we're even."

Knock Out crossed his arms. "Why do you think I even know where Megatronus is? It's not like I mingle with those rusty barbarians."

"You said he was still under contract, so he must live at the Pits. And the medics should know where their patients are."

"Not a medic," Knock Out harrumphed, "but, yes. Technically. I could find out where he is. But that's _it_ , and you never speak of my little… mishap, ever again."

"You take me to him, and we have a deal."

"You want me to guide you? Why?"

"Because I trust you about as far as you could throw me. I want to keep an eye on you."

Knock Out sneered, and held his hand out. "Fine."

Breakdown grabbed his fingers, squeezing just slightly too hard, and was rewarded with a wince. "Deal."

Knock Out snatched his hand away as soon as Breakdown let him go, and wiped his fingers off on a spare rag. Breakdown rolled his eyes.

"Hook will come back soon. I'll find Megatronus for you, and be here once you've been repaired."

Breakdown grunted.

Hook stepped out of the operating room, followed by a tall, handsome mech in ruddy purple. By the look of his clean, well-maintained armor, he was so absurdly rich, he probably could have bought the one of the moons and had shanix left over. This was someone _raised_ with money. He nodded goodbye to Hook and rubbed an out of place dent on his shoulder.

"You're sure I had this before I came in? I can't seem to remember it…"

"Absolutely," Hook said, expression blank behind the barefaced lie, "no doubt about it."

"Hm."

The mech left after that. Knock Out frowned, then a conniving expression bloomed across his face and he slipped out of the medbay after him. Good riddance.

Hook crossed the room and grabbed a pile of armor and circuitry. He dumped it on a table next to the slab on which Breakdown was lying.

"Go offline," he said, transforming his hand into an arc welder.

Breakdown bit down the flash of fear that surged to him and offlined his optics. He initiated a shutdown, and tried to keep calm as the world went blank around him.

* * *

Titles are from the same place they were last chapter. Octane is meant to be comparable to adrenaline, if it wasn't obvious. I admit I don't know much about cars.

I meant to update this on Monday but I was busy graduating. Next update should be on 22 May 2017. See you then!


	3. All the Men Just Call Him Sir

Knock Out squashed the urge to go back into the medbay and slip an overdose of sedatives into Breakdown's fuel line. It was a stupid idea anyways. One, he couldn't have done it without Hook noticing, and two, he didn't know where Scrapper kept the narcotics.

Really, talk about deadlocking oneself. If only that idiot scavenger had done what he was supposed to do, if only the morons at payroll bothered to keep track of their patients! Still, if he just got this over with, he could wash his hands clean and never have to think about any of the asses he had to deal with ever again. Or, at least until the next morning.

It was situations like these that made Knock Out bitterly nostalgic for the surface world of society mechs and fancy parties.

The soft clatter of metal hitting concrete rubble pulled him from his thoughts. Knock Out ducked into a doorway, and waited for his _patient_ to continue walking.

Wasn't that a co-incidence? Of all the mechanisms to end up under his scalpel, wasn't it simply _serendipity_ that it was Senator Ratbat on the day he needed to find Megatronus?

As far as Knock Out knew—and as far as the gossip said—the Senator had bought Megatronus' contract from some mining operation in Messatine after Megatronus had picked one too many fights with the wrong person. He had been destined for prison, followed by a discrete spark-snuffing, until Ratbat had tossed around enough money to get him a place in the Pit, rather than on death row. To the shock of whatever fool had taken the bribe, Megatronus didn't die in his first match, and instead went on to become one of the more infamous 'bots the Pit had ever produced.

Knock Out made a mental note to find out why Ratbat had needed a new compressor—the one Knock Out had pulled from his skull _seemed_ fine—and tucked the knowledge that Ratbat might have been using clones for his medical operations into his blackmail folder. It was never unwise to have something scandalous dangling over the head of someone in power.

The Senator continued down the hallway. The underbelly of the Pit was a maze of concrete and rebar. Even Knock Out, who worked there, couldn't navigate most of the complex without directions, but this stuffy senator seemed to be doing just fine.

Ratbat stopped outside of a door, and knocked twice, before entering. Knock Out drifted towards the door—casually, so he could excuse eavesdropping if someone saw him—and listened.

"Good match today," Ratbat's refined voice said casually, "I'm impressed with your mastery of showmanship."

Megatronus grunted. It sounded like an earthquake.

Ratbat didn't seem to take offense at his property's lack of respect. "I am less impressed, however, with your growing propensity towards political insubordination. Megatronus. I am sure you must understand how much liberty I give you."

Silence.

"Megatronus."

"Yes, Senator." In conversation, Megatronus' voice sounded less thunderous. Although, perhaps this, too, was an act, put on for an irate master instead of a yearning crowd thirsty for deliverance.

"Good. I understand you made a bid for repairs. Were you damaged?"

"No."

Ratbat sighed. "Megatronus. You understand that I expect _answers_ from you, yes?"

Megatronus was silent for a few, long moments. Knock Out's back started to ache.

"I asked for the victor of a debtor's match to be repaired."

"Oh?" The mild surprise in Ratbat's voice was obvious even to Knock Out. "Why?"

"He fought well. He didn't deserve to die."

"That doesn't sound like you. I'd expect you to think he wasn't worthy of saving, simply for failing to save himself. What's changed? Are you parroting that archivist?"

"I—"

"I give you so much freedom, Megatronus, and yet, you insist on disappointing me. You exist to fight for me. To _win_ for me. You don't need to waste your time with speeches and poetry. Leave that to the mechanisms who understand the consequences of their actions."

"Yes, Senator."

"Megatronus."

"Yes, Master." Knock Out swore he heard Megatronus' teeth shatter on the words.

Ratbat paused, clearly considering. "Fight well."

Knock Out yanked himself into the shadows of a nearby doorway and stalled his engine. The Senator stalked out of the room and down the hall, back towards the surface. Knock Out counted to twenty before he crept out of the shadows. He sagged back against the wall.

Perhaps he _didn't_ miss the nobility all that much.

Megatronus bellowed and punched the wall from inside his quarters. Knock Out darted back, and stared at the convex metal inches from his face in disbelief. Yes, now might be a good time to go and get Breakdown.

He hurried back towards the medbay. Hook was probably finished with the repairs by now, and if he wasn't, Knock Out could always just stand around and wait. It'd probably even help, giving the sick and injured a goal which to aspire. After all, it wasn't like they were nearly as well-built.

Although…

Knock Out rubbed the series of dents across his head. Perhaps he _wasn't_ as spotless and lovely as he liked to consider himself. Working with heavy handed clods like Hook and Scrapper did that to a mechanism.

He shook himself out of his maudlin thoughts and flung open the door to the medbay, putting on a brilliant grin.

"I'm back," he called out, stepping into the medbay like he owned the place, "I won't even bother asking if you missed me because I already know the answer is yes."

Hook looked at him. That 'bot really needed to see a therapist. Maybe some professional help would wring the omnipresent tortured resignation out of his expression.

He finished explaining whatever trite nonsense he was in the middle of, to Breakdown—probably something about not damaging his new parts—and walked past Knock Out. Knock Out tapped his foot pointedly. Hook absently smacked the back of his head on his way out.

"Pompous idiot," Knock Out hissed, rubbing the new dent.

Breakdown coughed static. Knock Out looked up at him; he could feel a sour, ugly expression etching itself across his face.

"Yes?"

"Did you find Megatronus?" Breakdown pushed himself off of the gurney. Hook had done a good job of repairing him, but there were only so many pieces of blue, class four armor in their stockpiles. Hook had had to improvise with the rest of the rainbow. Breakdown looked deeply silly in mismatched polychrome.

"No sense of sympathy, I see." Knock Out pouted, "Yes, and I'm fairly sure he's the one who paid for the repairs."

Breakdown sighed, and pressed his hand into his face. Knock Out could hear him quietly mumbling to himself—something about debts and honor, or some other such nonsense—and opted to ignore him. There was no reason to listen in on someone who was clearly _dull_ , unless of course, they were saying something interesting. Breakdown was quite definitely _not_.

"Are you ready?"

Breakdown pushed himself off the gurney. He didn't stumble, which was mildly impressive, and began to walk towards the door.

"Where is he?"

"Megatronus? In his room." Probably throwing a tantrum. "It's somewhere west of here."

"You're sure you know where we're going?"

What was this 'we' nonsense? The bare _second_ Breakdown found Megatronus, Knock Out was going to leave as fast as his wheels would take him. His home—a bare minimum shanty apartment—called to him with a cube of energon and a warm berth. He didn't _want_ to ignore the siren song of a full belly and a night's rest.

"Of course I am," Knock Out waved his hand, "I'll have you know I an excellent memory for directions." The fact that he had sketched arrows on the wall while following Ratbat went unmentioned. "Now stop complaining and follow me."

Breakdown lagged behind, but with his long legs (and Knock Out's… less than intimidating stature) he managed to keep pace.

"Here's his room. I trust you're happy." Knock Out didn't give Breakdown a chance to answer. "Wonderful, excellent. Please and thank you to never speak to me again."

"Hold up," Breakdown caught him by the shoulder, "go knock on the door."

"What? Why? Don't you _trust_ me?"

Breakdown gave him a look. It quite brilliantly answered Knock Out's question, gave a summary of what Knock Out could do with his 'trust', and even reliably informed Knock Out what Breakdown thought of his occupation, personal history, and general worth as a sentient being.

Knock Out would have been impressed with such an eloquent look, if he wasn't busy kicking Breakdown's leg.

"Let me go!" He shrieked, flailing his arms wildly.

Breakdown shrugged. "Okay."

Without Breakdown's hand to hold him back, Knock Out overbalanced and fell face first into Megatronus' door. He pushed himself away from the metal, hissing in pain and rubbing his face.

"You—"

The door slammed open.

"What."

Knock Out and Breakdown froze. Knock Out looked up, and up, and up. He knew what Megatronus looked like, technically. He was a class six mech with dead grey paint—some sort of scare tactic—and a lifetime's collection of brutal scarring. He seemed to be made entirely of angles and pointy bits.

While Knock Out had never operated on Megatronus, he was often called into the medbay to assist with repairs when Hook and Scrapper were bogged down in energon and broken 'bots. Megatronus was a background figure then.

Knock Out squinted. His neck hurt.

"Are you Megatronus?" Breakdown broke the silence.

Megatronus narrowed his eyes. Knock Out winced.

"I am." He sounded more confused than anything. After a few more moments of not being violently murdered, Knock Out let himself relax—but only slightly. There was no telling when Megatronus might snap and tear Breakdown's arms off.

"I'm Breakdown. You," Breakdown faltered for a second. Stuttering sounded _weird_ in his voice. "You paid to fix me."

Megatronus stared down at them for a long moment, then jerked his head towards his room. He stepped back inside. Breakdown glanced down at Knock Out, who shrugged.

"Come in."

It wasn't a request, and Knock Out genuinely had to consider if being polite was worth spending time around a bonafide killer with no witnesses. Breakdown vented and walked into the room.

"Come on," he hissed to Knock Out, tugging his arm.

"Let go," Knock Out whispered sharply, swatting at his hand. Breakdown dropped his arm, but Knock Out was already past the threshold.

"Excuse the mess," Megatronus said. His tone was wry. "And shut the door behind you."

His room was practically barren—a slave couldn't own much, Knock Out supposed—except for a few pieces of furniture and a stack of datapads on the table. The door automatically slid shut, and Knock Out jumped.

"That was a joke."

Knock Out looked up at Breakdown, desperate for some kind of social cue. When he said nothing, Knock Out slapped his knee and forced a laugh.

"Ah. Ha. Very clever. Wasn't he being clever, Breakdown?" Knock Out jabbed Breakdown's side with his elbow.

"Uh, yes. Hahahahhahaa!"

Knock Out winced at Breakdown's volume. Megatronus coughed static; the room descended into awkward silence.

"Why are you here?"

Breakdown pressed a hand to his chest. "I thought—I _knew_ I was going to die. But here I am, alive. Repaired. I owe you, and I don't want to wait until _you_ want to collect your debt."

Megatronus gave him a hard look. "Consider it fulfilled."

"Then why," Breakdown sounded baffled, "then why do it? If you don't want something from me, why bother doing me a favor?"

"Indulging my curiosity." Megatronus paused, glanced towards the stack of datapads on the table, then continued, "I have been... preoccupied with the concept of mercy as of late."

Knock Out's face curled into a smirk. Ah. Was _this_ the parroting about which Ratbat had been speaking? _Very_ interesting. The gossip almost made it worth being dragged down here.

"I—"

"Megatronus," a slim, shadowed 'bot stepped through the door, cutting Breakdown off mid sentence. His voice was deep, and modulated. Knock Out could count on one hand the 'bots he knew who bothered with that sort of mysterious nonsense.

"Soundwave," Megatronus' attention immediately snapped to the 'bot, "what is it?"

Soundwave gave Knock Out and Breakdown a cursory glance, but quickly turned his attention back to Megatronus.

"Problem: encountered. Ravage has not yet returned."

That strange moment of tenderness, of vulnerability, bled out of Megatronus' face. He nodded towards the door.

"Out."

Knock Out was moving before he finished the syllable, but Breakdown grabbed his shoulder before he could bolt.

"Wait," he stammered, "wait. I can help. I want to help. I owe you."

Knock Out struggled to keep from rolling his eyes. _Really_? What was this noble nonsense? Knock Out was fully aware that most people who knew him considered him amoral scum, but there was a line between honor and stupidity. Breakdown had crossed it when he insisted on paying back a debt that didn't exist. No, he hadn't just crossed, he barreled over it, taking out three pedestrians and a street sign in the process. Police were baffled at the brutality.

"You owe me nothing—"

Soundwave gently tapped Megatronus' arm, and slowly nodded. Megatronus searched his face—not that, all things considered, he had one—and vented air.

"Fine," he spat, "lock the door."

* * *

Breakdown leaned back against the wall; it was difficult not to fidget, but at least he was doing a better job than Knock Out, who had abandoned all pretense at interest and was pacing across the room.

 _Megatronus'_ room.

It was hard not to give into the megar wisps of hero worship he thought he'd squashed long ago, but really, this was _Megatronus_. The stories didn't do him credit. Hell, even the fight footage didn't do him credit. He was like a god, however blasphemous it was to say so. The old Primes—the first Primes—had names like his. Breakdown thought that they would pale in comparison.

"Tell them," Megatronus nodded at Soundwave from where he was seated in his chair.

Soundwave sighed in a burst of synthesized static. "Drone: sent for surveillance two days ago, on Senator Ratbat's request. He has not returned."

"Ratbat is temperamental," Megatronus said with the authority of one who was long accustomed to that anger, "it will not end neatly."

"I imagine very little does, around you," Knock Out muttered out of the side of his mouth. He flinched when Soundwave's blank face swiveled to him.

"So where'd it go?" Breakdown asked.

Soundwave looked at Megatronus. After a long moment, he nodded.

"Ravage: sent to Towers district of upper Iacon. Objective: gather blackmail for Senator Ratbat. Ravage: informs me that he cannot leave without being seen, due to an ongoing gala."

"So," Breakdown struggled to put the information into something that made sense, "you need to go get him. No. You need someone _else_ to get him."

Soundwave nodded.

"Both Soundwave and myself are _recognized_ in the upper echelons. Ratbat," Megatronus said the name with a sneer, "likes to parade his prized possessions. No, someone anonymous would need to go."

"Okay," Breakdown nodded, "we'll do it."

"We?" Knock Out waved a hand in front of his face, "Excuse me, but I seem to have misheard you. I seem to have heard you say 'we'. As in you and I. As in, you think you're going to drag me along on _this_ ," Knock Out gestured violently towards Megatronus and Soundwave, "fool's errand."

"It's not a fool's errand. Besides, I'd need some kind of back up," Breakdown didn't bother mentioning that someone who was as bulky and low-class as him would have a hard time fitting in among the nobility. It was obvious.

"Look," Knock Out said sharply, "I don't care if you ruin Hook's hard work on some quest for your honor, but leave me out of it. I really couldn't care less about his drone thing."

"Ravage: not a thing."

"Hey, I thought you were helping me?"

Knock Out rolled his eyes. "I _did_ help you. And now, we're even. If you'll excuse me, I've got a job to get back to. Because of _some 'bots_ , my workload is practically doubled. I have to match up all the scattered limbs, you see. It—"

Knock Out paused, and looked at Megatronus.

"I could be convinced to help," he said slowly, " _if_ you keep the next, ah, five losers in your matches _intact_."

Megatronus snorted. "Not very good showmanship."

"Well, it isn't good showmanship to send some oaf alone on an," Knock Out wiggled his fingers, "infiltration mission. Besides, _I_ know how to act like I'm high caste. You could waste your time looking for someone else, _or_ you could do me a teensy favor."

"Hn." Megatronus crossed the room and held out his hand. "Deal."

Knock Out took it, cautiously, and winced when Megatronus tightened his fist. He snatched his hand away the second Megatronus let go.

"This mission," Soundwave said, without the slightest hint of embarrassment about using a term like 'mission' to describe picking up a lost pet, "will require disguises. Your paint: not appropriate for high caste mechanisms."

Breakdown looked down at himself. "If this is as urgent as you say it is, I really don't think we have time for that. We'll play it off or something."

Knock Out made a sharply offended noise. Breakdown ignored him.

"Agreed," Megatronus crossed his arms. "Time is of the essence. Soundwave will send you the location, and the drone's ID tag."

"What about identification for us?" Knock Out spoke up. "Iacon is caste restricted; without passports, we'd never get past the roadblocks."

"Simple," Megatronus grinned, his scars splitting his face grotesquely, "You won't be taking the roads."


	4. And he like his fancy clothes

Knock Out started shrieking the second they took off, and didn't stop until he was safely ensconced in the comforting grip of _terra firma_.

"I didn't actually know someone could scream for that long," Breakdown remarked as he shuffled off Megatronus' alt mode. Knock Out threw a rock at him. It clanged against his mismatched arms and clattered uselessly to the ground.

"Our presence: undetected," Soundwave intoned. Megatronus lurched into root mode beside him.

"They never think to look up in this city," he murmured, turning his gaze skyward. Knock Out looked up. Nope. Nothing but haze and little, puttering clouds of acid rain. Hn. He'd have to check the forecast for the next week.

"Alright," Knock Out clapped his hands, "we're in. Wonderful. Point us in the right direction so we can get this over with and I can go home and drink until I forget today happened."

Breakdown snorted.

A message alert appeared in Knock Out's queue, and—after a precautionary virus scan—he opened it. The sender was Soundwave, so the detailed schematics and road maps were to be expected, but…

"Soundwave," Knock Out said slowly, "what is … this?"

"Kinda cute," Breakdown grunted, his head tilting as he rotated the image, "sorta."

"Image: Ravage."

"Oh?" Knock Out enlarged the drawing. It looked like one of those terrible abstract pieces his secretary used to buy for the clinic, back when he had either of those things. "Is it?"

"Good job," Breakdown offered diplomatically, "it's real nice."

Soundwave beamed. It was surprising how emotive he was for someone without a proper face.

"You don't have an image capture?"

Soundwave shook his head. Megatronus clapped him on the shoulder, doubling him over with the force.

"You never take enough pictures of them when they're young, do you?" He said wistfully.

Breakdown sniffed. Knock Out pressed his fingers to his temple.

Soundwave cleared his throat with a burst of static. "Affirmative. Questions?"

"Nope," Breakdown said, transforming into his alt mode, "let's get going."

"Wait, wait," Knock Out held up his hands, "what happens when we get the drone? Where should we meet you? It isn't like we can just come out of Iacon the same way we went in."

Soundwave flashed a question mark on his face, then turned to Megatronus.

"They don't check caste or passports leaving Iacon," Megatronus said with authority, "so long as you hide Ravage in your alt modes, no one should stop you."

Knock Out stifled a sigh and flipped into alt mode. Where Breakdown was some blocky affront against good taste, _he_ was still a sleek, stunning, and all around enviable masterpiece of aerodynamic engineering. Even if his paint job was… lacking.

"Good luck," Megatronus said. Soundwave waved. They transformed simultaneously and took off, rocketing above the skyline and into the tumultuous green clouds. Knock Out opened the data packet Soundwave had sent him and marked his destination. The GPS readout appeared in the upper lefthand corner of his HUD.

"This is right on the edge of Iacon," Breakdown said from somewhere behind him, "This'll be easy."

"Nothing about this is easy," Knock Out grumbled. He sped up, kicking up dust behind himself. If there was one good thing about Iacon, it was the roads. Iacon was largely populated by cars—it had been a while since Knock Out had seen the census, but cars were above ninety percent the last time he had checked—so the roads were very well maintained. It was unlike Tarn, which was mostly heavy machinery, and other low-caste 'bots. Energon was too expensive for heavy alt modes to be a popular form of transportation.

They crested a hill, and… nothing.

"Where's the place?" Breakdown sank low on his tires, then transformed, "I can't see it."

Knock Out followed suit, squinting into the distance. "Neither can I."

"The GPS says it should be here."

"Yes, I know that. Any more brilliant observations to add?"

"Just one," Breakdown squinted, "the map's backwards."

"What?" Knock Out snapped, bringing up his own copy.

"Well, yeah. Unless we're really lost, I don't think we're supposed to be in Nocai."

Knock Out resisted the urge to yank his wheel left and crash into the nearest wall. To be fair, his paint job was terrible enough that some blunt trauma would probably make it look better.

"Come on," Knock Out grunted and braked suddenly, pulling into a three point turn, "let's go."

"Huh," Breakdown followed suit, albeit more sedately, "wonder why Soundwave flipped the map?"

"I'm starting to wonder why Soundwave does anything," Knock Out grumbled.

The map that had once lead them to the uninhabited edges of the city now took them through the heart of Iacon's traffic. Luckily, the city had been designed with driving in mind, so the gridlock of Kaon (and Vos, the one time Knock Out had visited) was absent. Even the transplanetary highway didn't account for the terrible driving conditions of city-states with low automobile populations. In its place, however, was a lax regard for things like _actually staying on the road_. Breakdown and Knock Out drove past several fender-benders caused by a heedlessness of drivers to keep driving. Instead, it seemed like they had gotten distracted, or seen a friend, and immediately pulled off the highway and transformed. Sometimes, they pulled off the highway and transformed into someone else.

"Guess it's 'cause the walkways are next to the roads," Breakdown observed as they passed another crash. "Hope no one's hurt."

"Hm. The only thing hurting will be their bank accounts, after they get billed for hitting that streetlight. Although, I imagine they aren't exactly strapped for shanix."

"Yeah," Breakdown chuffed, "you see the mods on that guy?"

"Please, how could I miss them? Really, who told him spoilers that big looked good? Because they were lying."

"Maybe he's got wing envy?"

Knock Out snorted, "Why would anyone want wings when they can have wheels?"

Breakdown laughed.

They drove for a while in relative quiet. Iacon was bustling, so the streets were possibly the furthest thing from silence, but neither Knock Out nor Breakdown did their part to contribute to the ambient noise.

"Left turn here," Breakdown commented absently.

"I have the same map as you."

"Well, then you should know that you just missed the turn."

Knock Out braked, squealing on the roadway as he went from sixty to zero. "Only because you distracted me!"

Breakdown was slower—or had foresight or something stupid like that—and managed to make the turn without scraping too much paint off on the railing. Knock Out sank low on his tires and crept after him, doing his level best to make it seem like he was doing everything on purpose. It really didn't work, but there were only like two mechanisms around, and they were both uglier than Breakdown, so their opinions _totally_ didn't matter.

Knock Out feigned a static cough. "So, what now?"

Breakdown didn't respond. Instead, he transformed and raised one massive hand. Knock Out followed the direction of his finger. He stepped into root mode and gaped.

Iacon, in general, was the historic district of the fabulously wealthy and powerful. True, it has its own set of slums in Rodion, but that ugly blight aside, it was a golden world of sprawling estates and crystal gardens. The Towers district was that opulence condensed into a few square miles, and gilded to excess.

"Primus," Knock Out whispered, squinting.

"Yeah."

"Where did they even get that much gold leaf?"

"No clue."

"Who do you think polishes it?"

"Low paid servant classes?"

"Think they're hiring?"

Knock Out tore his gaze away from the building and stared at Breakdown.

"What?" he shrugged, "It beats beating someone's brain module out."

"Well, I can't argue with that. Well," Knock Out cocked his hip and crossed his arms, tapping his chin with his finger, "we're here. How do we get in?"

"Walk up and knock?" Breakdown shrugged, then grinned broadly, "Out?"

He looked entirely too pleased with himself for that pun.

Knock Out scowled. "Oh, I don't know. They might have a breakdown just from looking at you."

He transformed and sped off towards the mansion before Breakdown could do something reasonable, like murder him to put him out of his misery for that pun. Even the road here was fancy. It was smooth, clearly well-maintained, and had some fine, glittering gem embedded under the translucent asphalt. A long fountain stretched along the road, all the way to the mansion. He rolled down the driveway, smug. Yes, this was what he was due: a life spent luxuriating in splendor, with riches and fine things laid down at his feet. A petty job as a back alley brain surgeon chopping up dead bodies to make rent was not the life he had envisioned for himself, but then the vast majority of his life hadn't gone the way he'd wanted it, starting with one terrible decision to operate and culminating, really, in this terrible errand.

A bigger 'bot might have accepted that life simply wasn't fair, and moved on, but Knock Out was never very magnanimous. He also wasn't very tall.

"Hey," called Breakdown, "slow down!"

Knock Out grumbled, but let up on the accelerator. Breakdown was a blockhead, but he could be useful. For example, if Knock Out were trying to get away from the guards once this mounting disaster went belly up, he could always trip him.

He coasted to a stop. The long driveway and come to an abrupt end at the steps of the manor. Knock Out and Breakdown transformer into root mode.

"Looks like someone's taking invites," Breakdown observed, squinting at the doors.

"I have working eyes, thank you," Knock Out snipped, "Ugh. We're never going to get in. Why didn't Megatronus say something? I'm certain Soundwave could have forged something. Hn, actually, perhaps not."

"Well, let's just try—" Breakdown cut off suddenly and snatched Knock Out off the ground.

"Put me down!" Knock Out shrieked, pounding his hands against Breakdown's arms. A bright gold car sped down the driveway, pummeling the road where Knock Out had just been standing. It careened off the pavement into a decorative crystal arrangement next to the fountain running alongside the road, and smashed its hood on the metal base.

Knock Out squinted at the crackling flames. "Why is everyone in Iacon such a bad driver?"

Breakdown shrugged, and Knock Out batted him until he was returned to the ground. He rolled his eyes at the wreck and started walking towards the door. He was certainly very ugly now, what with his awful paintjob and dents, but perhaps the doormech would overlook that in favor of his charming personality.

"Hey," Breakdown touched his shoulder, "shouldn't we check on that mech?"

"Pft, why?" Knock Out shrugged, "they're very clearly dead or dying."

Breakdown looked down at him.

"What?" Knock Out shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. He threw his arms up. "Fine! We'll go look!"

They tromped through the well-kept metal shred lawn towards the wreck. Knock Out waved his hand in front of his face.

"Yes," he grumbled, "wandering through smoke looking for a body is such an excellent use of my precious time. _Wonderful_ idea."

"Just check on them," Breakdown said, wiping the smoke from the surface of his eyes.

"Just check on them, he says, like it isn't—oof!"

Knock Out tumbled into an ungraceful sprawl and ate a mouthful of metal splinters. Breakdown snorted, then broke down into laughter.

"You, hahaha, you deserved that," Breakdown gasped through his hysterics. Knock Out sneered uglily and snapped his foot out at Breakdown's ankle. Breakdown shouted, and fell to the ground beside Knock Out.

"Did I?" Knock Out crowed, pushing himself up on his elbows. It put him face to face with the wrecked car. He gasped and stumbled backwards into Breakdown. "Ugh."

Knock Out leaned forwards and poked the car with a claw. "Well. I can firmly say that they're definitely dead."

The car morphed back into root mode. Breakdown inhaled sharply and pulled Knock Out back.

"Get off," Knock Out swatted at his hand, "it's just rigor morphis. They're dead, trust me." Knock Out jabbed the body with his foot. "See?"

The corpse grabbed Knock Out's foot and started screaming, then Knock Out started screaming, and Breakdown must have been feeling left out, because he started screaming too.

"Shut up, shut up!" Knock Out kicked his foot free. Breakdown and the corpse shut up after a few more seconds of sustained screeching. "My poor ears!" He pouted and rubbed the sides of his head.

"Up," Breakdown pushed him to his feet and reached over to pull the corpse, er, _not-corpse_ , to their feet. "Here, lemme give you a hand."

He hauled the 'bot upright and dusted them off. "There. Good as new. You've, ah, got a pretty hard head, surviving the crash like that."

"Ah, yeah," the 'bot tittered, stumbling around for balance, "I got a new hood installed after my third crash this month. High impact! Guess it worked."

Knock Out exchanged glances with Breakdown.

"You know," he observed, tapping his mouth, "i've never met anyone that could make _you_ seem sensible."

Breakdown pushed him into a decorative fountain. "You alright?"

"I think," the 'bot pressed a hand to her head, "I'm not dizzy, or, rather, not dizzier than usual. I'm Goldfinger."

Breakdown shook her hand. "I'm Breakdown. The waterlogged one is Knock Out."

"Oh," Goldfinger stumbled over and grabbed Knock Out's hand, "how'd you get in there?"

"Must have tripped," Knock Out glared at Breakdown and pulled himself up.

"I trip all the time," Goldfinger confessed, "it's so difficult to keep my paint nice."

Ah. A kindred spark.

"Mh," Knock Out nodded, "and I hear real gold chips something awful."

"Oh, yes! I was honestly thinking of getting a new paint job, but with a name like Goldfinger there are only so many color schemes you can pull off."

Knock Out hummed and gave her a once over. "Have you considered sliver with a top coat of translucent yellow? It's ah, discount gold, but it keeps like a dream. Here, I use it for my detailing."

He braced a hand on Goldfinger's shoulder and showed her the rims on the tires in his feet.

"Oh," she leaned down and pressed a hand over her mouth, "that's sparkling!"

"It's the only thing that actually keeps through all the scrapes and bumps," Knock Out confessed, "Even the red doesn't last as long."

"Do you heat treat it?"

"Well, I use—"

"Ahem," Breakdown coughed politely.

Knock Out scowled at him.

"Yes?" Goldfinger beamed.

"We really need to get going," he jerked his head towards the mansion.

"Oh, you weren't saying that five minutes ago," Knock Out snapped, "I suppose it's fine when we waste time with _your_ whims, but when _I_ want to do something, suddenly time is important?"

"Look, I'm just saying that we're on a timer. Besides, I don't think talking about paint is as important as checking if someone isn't dead."

"Oh, I can tell _you_ don't spend much time talking about paint," Knock Out stared pointedly at Breakdown's mismatched armor. Nevermind that it was _mostly_ his fault. Well, his and Hook's.

"Oh no," Goldfinger pouted, "have I started an argument?"

Knock Out huffed. "Nothing that wasn't started already…" he paused, and really looked at her: the expensive paint job, the carelessness, the skidmarks leading down the driveway… "Say," he began again, "have you just come from the gala?"

"The senatorial one?"

Knock Out nodded.

"Oh, yes. It's such a drag," she added conspiratorily, "my conjunx is a senator, so I get invited to all of the big parties. They're full of stuffy old 'bots and all they _ever_ do is talk politics. Oh, no offense."

"What?" Breakdown leaned over Knock Out's shoulder. Knock Out only barely kept from punching him. Didn't the idiot ever know when to shut up?

"Oh, I just assumed you were senators, with you two being here and all."

"We were invited," Knock Out cut in before Breakdown could say anything, "by our senator friend, ah…"

"Megawave," Breakdown supplied, "from the… Pit."

"The Pit?" Goldfinger squinted at him.

"Of course," Knock Out said, feigning offense, "haven't you heard of it?"

"Er," Goldfinger chewed her lip, "I must have, ah. Hm. Oh!" she snapped her fingers, "up north, right?"

Knock Out took the lie. "Yes, of course. Imagine," he tapped Breakdown's chest, "and you thought they wouldn't know who we were here."

"Uh, yeah."

Oh, the poor deluded fool couldn't even lie properly. What was he doing in the gladiatorial pits?

"Well, yes. Breakdown, get our invitations, would you? We'll need them at the door."

"Knock Out," Breakdown looked at him like he was crazy, "we don't have inv—"

Knock Out stomped on his foot.

"Oh, right," he faked a laugh, "the invitations. Right. Oh no. I appear to have lost them. This is terrible."

He sounded slightly more dead than the corpses Knock Out was paid to, er, break down.

"What?" Knock Out gasped, flinging a hand over his mouth, "Oh, how terrible!"

Breakdown winced at the volume.

"You forgot your invites?" Goldfinger looked imploringly at them, "That's so sad."

"Yes. So sad. Why, we'll have to go all the way back to the, ah, Pit." Knock Out wiped his eye.

"No!" Goldfinger clasped his hand, "After you came all the way here? You can't!"

Knock Out stared at her, his brow raised. Certainly she was ditzy, but he could only hope she wasn't outright _dumb_. What was it that Hook muttered under his breath about Knock Out when he thought Knock Out wasn't listening? Ah, yes, Primus bless his spark. Well, Primus bless poor Goldfinger.

"Well, I could," Goldfinger hissed in consternation, "Oh! I know! Come with me and I can tell the valet you two simply lost your invitations."

Breakdown squinted. "They'd let you do that?"

"Of course, it's my party! I can do whatever I like," Goldfinger tittered and took their hands, "Come on!"

Knock Out grinned victoriously at Breakdown. Ah, yes. His charming personality. It worked every time.

* * *

And we meet our first oc! For the curious, she's a Marilyn Monroe expy. See you next Monday!


	5. And he like to wave his diamond rings

Breakdown shuffled his feet and tried to eavesdrop on the poor valet with whom Goldfinger was arguing. He smacked the side of his head a few times.

"I think your overacting knocked my auditory circuits out of alignment," he grumbled.

"Oh shut up," Knock Out kicked a loose bit of gravel at him, "my overacting was what got us in here at all."

Breakdown rolled his eyes. "We're not exactly in yet."

"What do you _mean_ you won't let them in?" Goldfinger shouted. The valet quailed.

"Damage control?" Knock Out glanced sidelong at him.

"Yeah."

Breakdown followed Knock Out to the door. Knock Out put on a patently fake cocky grin and practically sashayed over to Goldfinger. He leaned casually against one of the columns lining the porch, the smooth lines of his body unmarred by the dents. Breakdown looked away.

"Goldfinger!" he said cheerily, and waved.

"Knock Out," Goldfinger pouted and grabbed Knock Out's arms. Knock Out grimaced at the contact, but managed to cover it up with a smile. "The doormech says he won't let you in!"

"Whyever not?" Knock Out frowned, feigning delicate offense.

"Your armor, sirs," The skinny mech by the door spoke up.

"This?" Knock Out looked down at himself, "Why, what's wrong with our armor?"

It was pretty obvious what was wrong with Breakdown's armor: most of it wasn't actually his, and most of it didn't match either his original coloring, or the armor by which it was surrounded. Knock Out looked marginally better, but he suffered from disrepair. He looked poor.

The valet pursed his mouth at them, clearly trying to tell them they looked like a pile of scrap in the politest way possible.

"This is a, ah, high-gloss event. Unfortunately, I cannot let you in, looking like that."

"Pft. High-gloss he says. Breakdown, did you hear him? _Clearly_ , you must be near-sighted; can't you see us?"

The mech blinked. "Yes. That is exactly my problem."

"Well, then," Knock Out scoffed, "I don't see why there should be any issue."

"The issue is, sir, that you are in ill-repair for this event."

"Ill-repair?" Knock Out gasped. "There seems to have been some terrible misunderstanding."

"Oh?"

The valet and Goldfinger leaned in to hear his explanation. Breakdown gritted his teeth. Maybe he could just disguise himself as a waiter and sneak in once the police arrived to arrest Knock Out for making a scene.

"Why, _of course_. This," Knock Out gestured up and down himself, "is high fashion. ' _Scrap chic_ '; it's all the rage these days in the, er Pit. Why, look at Breakdown here."

Breakdown stiffened and tried to smile politely.

"I'm not nearly as, ah, daring and bold in my armor choices as him," Knock Out continued, "but look at him. It takes a careful eye for detail to look as, hn, stunning, as him."

Knock Out looked like he was going to be ill. Breakdown glared at him.

"Oh, wow," Goldfinger cradled the side of her face, "I totally get it! Like, look at the colors. Besides, look at me," she held out her arms to display the crash damage, "I'm more dinged up than him. Gosh, I'm so fashionable."

"You live here, ma'am. But… I suppose the patterning of the dents and scuffs is… artistic," the valet conceded.

"Totally! I told you Knock Out was super stylish; we talked _forever_ about paint. He knows high fashion."

"Hmm," the valet peered at them with fresh optics, considering. Knock Out subtly posed, and jabbed Breakdown in the side until he did the same. "I… yes, I do see it now. Scrap chic, did you call it?"

"Oh, yes," Knock Out flapped his hand.

"Hm. Well, if Goldfinger says so, I suppose I can let you inside," the valet hummed and hawed for a bit, mostly for show, before waving open the sliding door. Knock Out smiled at him—it was really more of a sneer—and swept past him. Breakdown nodded and followed him.

The inside of the manor was even more lavish than the outside. The entrance room was maybe a hundred and twenty meters across, and fifty meters back. There was an ornate, sweeping staircase in the middle of the room, leading up to the next floor. Craning his head, Breakdown could see about five floors of balconies before the ceiling and, judging from the outside, there were probably fifteen more floors he couldn't see. Weird. Who would _want_ to be up that high?

The crowd was intimidating too. Sure, Breakdown had seen more people crammed into a smaller space before—the crowds at the tournament, for an example—but this was the upper crust of Cybertron. He felt strange, hulkish, and out of place.

Knock Out seemed less awkward.

"Oh, Goldfinger, how splendid," he whistled lowly, "absolutely stunning."

"Thanks! I can barely stand my conjunx, but at least the house is nice." Goldfinger tapped her chin, "Oh, let's go find Megawave."

Knock Out glanced at Breakdown, baffled. He mouthed 'Megawave', and Breakdown twitched his head in the negative. No, wait.

"Megawave," he rumbled, elbowing Knock Out in the side, "of course. Our senator friend who invited us."

"Ah, yes!" Knock Out caught on, "Megawave, our dear friend. Got us into this mess," he muttered, then brightened, "yes. I wonder where he is."

"Haha, it's no problem," Goldfinger waved over a drone carrying a plate of energon goodies, "I'll just check the guest logs and see where he is. Gosh, I'll need to get you two pass chips too."

"Ah, pass chips?" Knock Out grinned nervously.

"Oh, yes. Sidearm, my conjunx, is paranoid we'll have a disaster and lose guests. They've got little trackers in them and everything." Goldfinger rolled her eyes. "She's so boring."

"Oh, trackers?" Knock Out's voice went high, and he coughed to cover it, "How wonderful. Say, ah—"

"Drinks." Breakdown cut in. His face went blank when Goldfinger and Knock Out turned to stare at him. Knock Out looked angry, and desperate.

"I'll get drinks," he continued, "for us. While you register us. What do you want?"

"Oh, something light," Goldfinger flapped her hand, "I'm saving my drinking for when Sidearm starts giving her welcome speech. Knock Out?"

"I'm picky," he snapped, then grinned and put on a milder tone, "don't worry yourself, Breakdown. I'll go with you. Be back soon, Goldfinger."

He waved his fingers and grabbed Breakdown's arm, dragging him towards the table at the far end of the room. Breakdown yanked his arm free and scowled down at him.

"What was that?" Knock Out hissed, standing his toes like he could glare down at Breakdown.

"What was what?"

"You! I handle the talking, _remember_? It's only the entire reason I came on this forsaken _errand_."

"Oh, yeah," Breakdown rolled his eyes, "you were handling it alright. What the hell were you planning on doing?"

Knock Out's neat face went ugly with anger. "I could have handled it!" He hissed, then turned and stormed away to the drink table.

Breakdown scowled and followed him. It seemed any semblance of camaraderie they'd had vanished like smoke the second Knock Out ran out of other things to get irritated at. Breakdown took the opportunity to glance around the room, squinting into the shadows for a little beast-alt. He narrowly dodged a crowd of finely decorated mechs, shrugging off their curious stares. He hated being stared at. He was twice the size of most of the mechs here, and he still felt puny under their burning eyes.

He hunched his shoulders and tucked his head down, eyes on his feet. Knock Out was by the table, glaring at a glittering cube of energon like it had personally insulted him. Or, well, like he was imagining it was Breakdown.

"Any sign of Ravage?" He rumbled, leaning over.

Knock Out's face twitched. "Nothing, unless you count someone wearing a pelt."

Breakdown followed Knock Out's gaze and shuddered. "And they wanted to keep _us_ out?"

"Oh, my dear, this is just the beginning layer of petty sniping. Give an hour or so, when all the important people show up." Knock Out waved a hand. " _Then_ , you'll see how bad it can get."

"What?"

Knock Out rolled his eyes. "I wonder to what depths your mind sank. It's nothing like what you're imagining, I'm sure, unless you're imagining gossipy squabbles that make or break reputations."

He sounded almost nostalgic.

"Seems shitty."

"Oh, absolutely. I miss it so."

Breakdown looked at him. "Whatever. We need to find Ravage. Goldfinger seems pretty absent minded, so we should be able to keep distracting her while we search the rooms."

"You want to sweep this place, top to bottom?" Knock Out gaped.

"Sure. Why not?"

"Do you have any _idea_ how big these mansions are? Imagine, just for a second, taking the gladiator pits and stacking them above ground, only in this scenario, they're clean and covered in chrome, and also much, _much_ larger. I've gotten lost in house pastries and couldn't find my way out for weeks."

Breakdown gave him a flat look.

"I'm serious!" Knock Out stamped his foot. He grabbed Breakdown's arm and pointed towards the upper levels. "How good is your airsense? Can you navigate above ground? Grounders like us don't function well in the air. I imagine that's why the drone was so slow getting out of here."

Breakdown looked up and tried to ignore the deep illusion of vertigo gripping his head. Maybe Knock Out had a point, but he'd be rusted before he ever admitted that.

"That still doesn't solve the problem of finding Ravage."

"No, I imagine it _doesn't_ ," Knock Out snapped, "but at least I'm stopping you from making an even bigger problem."

Breakdown loomed over him. "I'll give you a bigger problem you petro-rabbit—"

"Knock Out!" Goldfinger waved from across the room, "and big guy! Sorry I forgot your name!"

"Let's abscond." Knock Out straightened from his cower.

"Right."

* * *

Welcome to the next installment of 'I keep lying about when I'm going to update'. In my defense, I started my new job last Monday, and life has been pretty hectic.

Scrap chic is a silly reference to derelict, from Zoolander.

For the curious, Sidearm is a war hero given the robot equivalent of knighthood for singlehandedly holding the line against the Quintessons on Leonduis VII. She turns into a tank. How'd she and Goldfinger end up married? Who knows?

See you next time!


	6. He got a thirty two gun in his pocket

Knock Out tried to lose Breakdown in the press of the crowd, but he was just too big. The rich 'bots milled out of his way almost casually. Whatever amicable nature their relationship had taken was swiftly turning south. If Knock Out was more inclined to melancholy he might have felt a little sad.

They _did_ manage to lose Goldfinger. She lost track of them somewhere between the drinks and the first grand staircase and was caught up in conversation with a pair of identical helicopters, and seemed to have all but forgotten about Breakdown and himself. Which was good, all things given, because he still had no idea how they were going to find the drone.

He hadn't been lying to Breakdown when he'd said it was near impossible to navigate a manor like this, but if, perhaps, they were able to find the household console, downloading accurate floor plans would be as simple as plugging in. But, that was a fairly big _if_ , and it still required one to know where the console was situated. Perhaps Megatronus' next four()()()() fights weren't really worth all of this effort.

"I'm looking in here." Breakdown shouldered past him and opened a door to his left. They looked into the room. It was a hub, one circular central room with numerous doors branching off to the rest of the house. Breakdown blanched.

"What did I tell you?" Knock Out tapped his foot.

Breakdown grunted and stomped over to the rightmost door and triggered the opening mechanism. This one lead to a hallway.

"What are you doing?" Knock Out sighed, "Other than wasting my time."

"Look," Breakdown opened the next door, "one of these has to be an actual room instead of hallways. It's as good a starting point as any, and I don't see you coming up with any clever ideas."

"You're an idiot." Knock Out said, because you couldn't remind someone of this enough.

Breakdown didn't respond. Doors three through eight were also hallways.

"Hey, look! Progress!"

"Breakdown, that's a storage cupboard."

"Yeah, but it's not a hallway." Breakdown ducked into the cupboard and shifted through the spare tarpaulins and moleculon fuses. "Think he's hiding in here?"

"Who?"

"Ravage? The drone? The reason why we're here?"

Knock Out scoffed and rolled his eyes. "You're an idiot."

"Whatever," Breakdown moved to open the next door. "Y'know, you can start helping any time you want to. You—uhhhh…"

Breakdown stared into the opened door.

"What? What is it?" Knock Out batted past him and looked into the room.

A trio of 'bots sat around a table, lit only by a single swinging lamp. There was a portable holographic console in the center of the table, projecting the flickering image of another 'bot, this one with a visor and a strange pair of vertical mandibles in place of a mouth.

"He seems to be planning something," the hologram was saying, "but he's remarkable taciturn on the subject. His Second seems to be clued, but he doesn't trust me. I—" he paused. "I see you have visitors. I'll leave you to deal with them. Tarantulus out."

The hologram flickered off and the three 'bots looked up at Knock Out and Breakdown.

"I think we ought to go now," Knock Out stared, "but I can't seem to move."

"Scrap." Breakdown muttered.

"That works too!" Knock Out bolted into the nearest hallway, Breakdown lagging on his heels.

"Who are they?" Breakdown panted. They came to an intersection. Knock Out took a left and kept running.

"Don't know, don't care!" He opened the door at the end of the hall and found himself in another hub room. "Start opening doors!"

"What?" Breakdown wheezed and pulled open three doors. Knock Out checked the rest, beaming when he found the cupboard.

"That's enough; in here!" Knock Out squeezed into the cupboard, shoving aside tarpaulins. Breakdown followed him. It was a tight squeeze, but they managed to fit. Knock Out wormed his arm around Breakdown's bulk and triggered the switch. The door spiraled shut.

"What are we doing?" Breakdown whispered, his voice uncomfortably loud in the silence.

"Shhhh!" Knock Out swatted him. "Idle your engine."

A maintained high performance engine like Knock Out's was practically noiseless, but Breakdown was massive and built for power, not speed. Even stationary, he rumbled. He stared powering down, reducing the strain on himself until his engine slipped into near silence. Knock Out did the same. Then they waited.

"Those guys didn't look tough; I could have—"

Knock Out slapped his hand over Breakdown's mouth. Footsteps echoed from down the hall.

"They went through here." A shuffle of feet, and three mechs entering the room. "We split up."

Two sets of footsteps left through the open doors. Breakdown shifted his weight. Knock Out held up a finger, his face taught.

After a few minutes, the last mech left. His footstep echoed down the hall. Knock Out vented in relief, then edged around Breakdown and gesture for him to open the door. He was fairly certain that there was no one there, but if he was somehow wrong, then at least Breakdown would die first.

"Is it clear?" Knock Out whispered.

Breakdown grunted and stepped out into the hub room. "Well, I'm not dead yet."

"Good enough." Knock Out extracted himself from a bundle of tarpaulins and dusted himself off. Ugh, he was covered in streaks of—well, every color, really, considering Breakdown's current lack of a paint job, but it was predominantly blue. It clashed horribly, and he ma a note to spend his well earned Megatronus corpse money on a new paintjob. Well, if they ever managed to find the drone.

"What in the Pit was that?" Breakdown said, propping his fists on his hips. "Do all parties have shady murder cults hanging around, or are we just unlucky?"

Knock Out peered through the three open doors, then pulled them shut.

"Look, I spent all of my time at these kinds of parties getting ten kinds of utterly trashed and rolling through the back rooms. For all I know, they could have ritually sacrificed half the guests and I'd be none the wiser."

Breakdown snorted. "Some help you are."

Knock Out narrowed his eyes. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means I could've done this without you picking fights and getting us stuck in ridiculous lies."

"I'll remind you," Knock Out jabbed his finger at Breakdown's face, "we wouldn't have gotten here in the first place if not for my 'ridiculous lies'. Really, what would you have done? Drooled a bit? Punched down a wall and gotten shot by the Iacon Guard? You should have just stayed on my table. Megatronus wasted his money on you."

Breakdown's placid face cracked and Knock Out had time for a brief moment of regret before Breakdown tackled him. They crashed through the nearest door and into a tastefully decorated sitting room. Breakdown slammed him onto the chrome table and started punching his face in.

He got in one, two hits, before Knock Out jabbed his buzzsaw into the weakened portion of his chest armor and switched it on. Breakdown howled in pain and staggered back. Knock Out took the opportunity and hauled himself to his feet, then leapt onto Breakdown's broad back, bringing his saw down over his helm. The metal squealed and sparks flew. It was almost enough to cover up Knock Out's wild laughter and Breakdown's bellows of rage. He grabbed Knock Out's arm and neatly broke it. Knock Out tried to yank his arm away, but Breakdown's grip was too strong. He settled for jabbing the pointed tips of his fingers into the brittle glass of Breakdown's optics. Breakdown reared back and slammed him into a wall. One of Knock Out's tires popped and the wall gained a dent in the shape of an incredibly handsome silhouette.

"Let go of me!" Breakdown shouted, backing up and ramming Knock Out again.

"You let go of me first!"

"Huh?" Came a voice. Knock Out and breakdown froze. "What's this?"

The speaker was an ancient 'bot, sitting in a gently rocking hover chair and bundled up in a tarpaulin. She looked familiar in a distant sort of way, and also deeply confused.

"What are you two doing over there?" The 'bot squinted at them.

"Ahh," Knock Out trailed off. Breakdown let go of his arm and he slid off of Breakdown's back into the floor.

"Had an itch on my back," Breakdown lied through his vocalizer.

The 'bot nodded slowly. Really, she was so familiar, but Knock Out couldn't place her.

"I know you from somewhere?" Breakdown asked the question for him. "A job, maybe? You ever contract with Bulkhead's Construction?"

The 'bot looked at him archly, her thin mouth curling into a sneer.

"I know!" Knock Out snapped the fingers of his unbroken arm. "You used to be big in holofilms."

"I _am_ big," she said, settling higher in her chair, "it's the holos that got small. I'm Diamondback." She held out her hand, then sneered when both Knock Out and Breakdown failed to take it. "Now, why are you two here? I was napping."

"Sorry to interrupt," Knock Out pressed a hand to his chest and took a step towards the door, "we were just—"

"We're looking for someone." Breakdown interrupted him. Knock Out shot him a glare. He couldn't get away with finishing their fight, not with a witness and the element of surprise ripped cleanly from his broken hand, so he just had to settle for seething and scheming.

"Oh? Who would that be, dear?"

"A drone." He held up Soundwave's awful drawing. Diamondback squinted at it, her optics whirring as they tried to focus.

She hummed thoughtfully. "No, dear, I don't seem to have seen anything like that. Perhaps—"

She was interrupted by a static meow, and the heavy thump of an idiot cat-drone rolling over in its sleep and landing on the floor. Ravage stalked out from under the table, looking as dignified as possible with its ears all crooked from the fall.

"Ahhh, Snuffles," Diamondback held her hand out for the drone to sniff, "did you enjoy your nap?"

"T-that," Knock Out held up a shaking hand, "that drone…"

"Oh, you mean Snuffles? Isn't he sweet? He just wandered in here a day or so ago, being chased by those awful Tripredacus 'bots. Would you like to pet him?"

"Ah, just a moment," Knock Out held up a finger and plastered a brilliantly false grin over his mouth, "watch it, would you?"

Diamondback nodded her slow aquesquecence and Knock Out drew Breakdown into a corner of the room.

"That's Ravage, right?" He whispered tersely, thumbing to the gently purring drone. "I'm not just imagining things?"

"I don't know," Breakdown squinted at the drawing, "this picture is awful."

They carefully compared the picture and the drone. They were both black, with red eyes. Or, at least, the drone had red eyes; the picture had vague red scribbles in the general vicinity of the face. Other than that, they both had four legs and two pointed ears.

"...Maybe?" Knock Out said hesitantly. "Ugh, couldn't he have given us a real image capture, or an identity tag—"

Knock out trailed off and tried very hard to keep from slapping himself. Or Breakdown.

Breakdown, at least from the expression on his face, was feeling the same way.

"We had the ID tag this whole time, didn't we?"

"Mhhm."

"The ID tag with the system identifier."

"Mhhm."

"That we could have used to identify the drone within a matter of seconds."

Breakdown vented air and Knock Out slapped a hand over his mouth before he could grunt obnoxiously again.

"Just activate it."

Breakdown's eyes went white as he fiddled around in his coding, then he snapped his head over to the drone.

"Haha!" He laughed victoriously. "It's him!"

He picked up Knock Out and swung him around in celebration, then planted a big stupid kiss in the center of his mouth.

"Uh, sorry." Breakdown deposited Knock Out back on the ground. Knock Out raised an eyebrow and dusted himself off.

"Ahem, well," he coughed static, "we ought to make a plan to get out of here."

"Can't we just leave?"

"Can't we just leave, he says," Knock Out bemoaned, "like there isn't a gang out for our heads. Do you suppose it's that Tripredacus group that caught up the drone, as well?"

"Do you think there's more than one gang thing in this place?"

"Well, it is very big." Knock Out stroked his chin. "Goldfinger mentioned some sort of speech."

"Right, so we can sneak out when everybody is focused on the speech."

"Psh. I mean we can sneak out when everyone is getting smashed to avoid listening the the speech." Knock Out waved his hand. "Get with the picture."

Breakdown rolled his eyes. "Fine. Let's grab Ravage and go."

They turned around. Diamondback was sleeping, and the drone was gone. Knock Out's engine sputtered.

"Where's the drone?"

Breakdown dropped his face into his palm, then squared his shoulders. "Hey, ma'am, uh, Diamond-something!"

"Hmm," Diamondback blearily onlined her eyes. "Yes?"

"Where'd that drone go? Ravage, uh, Snuffles?"

"Hmm? Oh, yes, Snuffles. Isn't he a good boy?"

"You were supposed to watch him!" Breakdown caught Knock Out's armor collar before he could lunge.

"Oh, I did."

"Then where is he?"

"Oh, he's gone."

"Gone _where_?" Knock Out could hear his teeth creaking.

"Out the door."

Knock Out bolted for the door, wrenching it open. Breakdown was right on his tail, and crashed into him when he stopped short. They tumbled to the ground and a pile of boxes fell on their heads.

"Where's Ravage?" Knock Out pushed himself up, dislodging Breakdown and a few boxes.

"I don't see him. You think he's in one of these boxes?"

"Start looking!"

They tore through the boxes, flinging the contents across the small closet. Knock Out could feel his eyes burning with all the extra energy he was diverting into them.

"Nothing!" Knock Out threw his hands up, then looked at Breakdown. Breakdown had a small tarpaulin draped over his head. He shrugged.

"I can't believe we lost him! Where could he even gone?"

"What are you two doing in there?" Diamondback leaned forwards in her chair, craning her neck to look at them.

Knock Out shot a glare at her. "Looking for _Snuffles_!"

"Oh, why are you looking in there?"

"You said he went in here!" Knock Out gestured sharply to the closet with his hands. "Through the door, that's what you said!"

"Ohhh, no dear, not that door."

"Then which door!"

"Oh, that one." She pointed to the door leading out into the hall. Knock Out stopped venting and counted to ten. Beside him, Breakdown punched a hole in the wall.

"Go!" Knock Out finished counting and sprinted back into the hall. "Oh, where is that cat?"

He caught a glimpse of black turning the corner down the hall and ran towards it. He took the corner too wildly and ended up crashing into the wall. Then Breakdown crashed into him.

"Excuse me," Knock said, his voice muffled, "I know it's asking a lot and all, but would you mind _getting off me_!?"

Breakdown peeled himself out of the metal and staggered back onto the ground.

"Did you see where Ravage went?" Breakdown looked both ways down the hall, but saw nothing.

"I _did_ , but then some oaf went and plowed into me." Knock Out fussed over a new dent on his arm. "Damn. How are we going to find it now?"

Breakdown held up his hands and closed his eyes, then muttered to himself. Knock Out peered at him.

"What are you doing?"

"Guessing. Let's go left." Breakdown turned and started following the hall. Knock Out trailed after him.

"Why left?"

"Why not?" Breakdown shrugged. "Beats sitting and waiting for something to happen."

"Marvelous. I can't believe we're desperate enough to follow whims now. Lead the way, then. At least I can blame you when we return empty handed."


	7. He cast his eyes upon her

Breakdown walked down the hall, doing his best to ignore Knock Out's increasingly annoying griping. Everything looked the same here, all featureless, white walls with an improbable number of doors, none of which had Ravage behind them.

He pulled open a door.

"Sorry," he blanched, and slammed it shut.

"What?" Knock Out peaked around him.

Breakdown rubbed his forehead. "You don't want to know."

"That really makes me want to know." He pulled open the door, and his face went whiter, if that were possible. He froze; Breakdown closed the door for him.

"I didn't want to know." Knock Out stuttered, eyes wide.

"Told you." Breakdown turned and started walking down the hall. Knock Out shuddered, then continued following him.

Truth be told, he was getting on Breakdown's nerves. Although at this point, _Breakdown_ was getting on Breakdown's nerves. The disappointment at losing Ravage was wearing on him, and he generally considered himself a well-adjusted and personable mechanism. Generally. There were a few 'bots on the construction site who would argue against that, but Breakdown way bigger than all of them and he could easily take them in a fight if he wanted to.

Maybe he wasn't as well adjusted as he thought, but the point remained that if _he_ was irritating, Knock Out had gone so far beyond obnoxious, that he was a foot or two from looping around into affable and charismatic. Breakdown was a foot or two from punching him, so it was a good thing Knock Out was three feet shorter than him.

Breakdown shook himself out of his thoughts. Punching could wait; he had a drone to find.

"Why does this place have so many closets?" He complained as he stuffed a pile of tarpaulins back onto the shelves.

"Who knows?" Knock Out grunted, back against the door as they tried to force it shut. Breakdown pulled back and rammed it with his shoulder and it finally slammed shut. Knock Out slumped to the ground, frowning and poking at his ankle.

"You know, I'm starting to believe you when you say people get trapped here." Eternity with no company except Knock Out until they starved to death. Breakdown shuddered.

"Psh. This is nothing. We're almost at the door we first came through anyways." Knock Out pointed to an innocuous door, set into the wall. It looked exactly like every other door.

Breakdown squinted at it. "Seriously?"

"You don't trust me?" Knock Out pressed an offended hand to his chest and yanked open the door. He was right; it opened to the main room. It also opened to Goldfinger.

"You—!"

Knock Out slammed the door shut, then turned and pressed his back against it. "I'm a filthy liar; let's leave."

Goldfinger opened the door from her side and Knock Out fell backwards with a sharp yell. Breakdown caught him before he could crash into Goldfinger.

"These things swing both ways?" He muttered, dazed.

"You two!" Goldfinger fumed, advancing on them. "Where did you go? I turned away for one second and you were gone! And I looked it up: Megawave isn't even invited!"

"Megawave is real?"

Breakdown clapped a hand over Knock Out's mouth. "Ah, Goldfinger, look—"

"Don't you 'Goldfinger, look' me!" Goldfinger jabbed her finger at him, wincing slightly when it chipped her paint. "I'm starting to think you guys _lied_ to me."

"Oh, my," Knock Out pulled Breakdown's hand off of his mouth, "you'd _really_ think we'd do that to you? What an awful—"

"Yeah, we lied."

Knock Out stared at him. Goldfinger puffed up her cheeks and opened her mouth, ready to call security. The 'bots in the main hall were starting to notice the commotion and Breakdown caught a unpleasantly familiar glimpse of a trio of shadowy mechs making their way towards them.

"We aren't friends of a senator. Sorry, but we needed to get inside. Y'see…" he trailed off, then glanced down at Knock Out, who looked like he was about to explode. Breakdown bit back a sigh and dropped his hand on Knock Out's shoulder. "We want to elope."

"What?" Goldfinger's eyes went soft and gooey. Knock Out punched him in the stomach.

"Yeah, uhhh," Breakdown floundered for a convincing lie. "We're in love." Aw, dammit, who would buy that?

"Love?" Goldfinger whispered, pressing her hands to her mouth. "How romantic…"

Okay, roll with it. "Yeah, and um, we can't do the conjunx thingie because, ah, Knock Out is engaged. To someone else. Him." Breakdown pointed at the ugliest of the Tripredacus 'bots.

Goldfinger turned away to look.

"I am thirty seconds from stabbing you to death with your own doors," Knock Out hissed, pulling him down to eye level. "They will _never_ find your body. With _whom_ am I performing the rite?"

"That one," Breakdown pointed, "the ugly guy. Look, I don't see you coming up with any clever ideas to get us out of here."

"You rusted—"

Goldfinger turned back around, and Knock Out turned his oncoming punch into a gentle caress of Breakdown's cheek. Goldfinger coughed polite static, and he pulled away, hiding his fuming rage with a flush.

"We were trying to hide out until they left, and then we were gonna head for Kao—down south. But, uh, alas," Breakdown clutched Knock Out to his chest, "we were caught, and had to run here."

"Where you met me," Goldfinger clapped her hands in front of her face, "and you thought you had to hide your love? Oh, that's so sad!"

She flung her arms out and tried to embrace them. "Y'know, I ran off and committed matrimony, too. With Sidearm, even." Her voice went soft and a little vulnerable. "I rather liked her once. I wonder what happened?"

"Uhhhh," Breakdown patted her back and looked at Knock Out for help. "There, there?"

"Enough about me!" Goldfinger sniffed daintily and pulled herself away, dabbing at the carbon searing under her eyes. "I've got to make sure you two have a happily ever after!"

She shoved them through the door. For such a little thing, she sure was strong.

"C'mon," Goldfinger raced past them, "I can show you the back way out."

"There's a back way out?"

"You can _navigate_ in this maze of a house?"

"Of course I can, silly," Goldfinger patted Knock Out on the head. "I downloaded the map."

"There was a map?" Breakdown tried not to let his despair show through in his voice.

"Duh! How else would anyone get around in here? The place is a maze. I once got lost for a week and nearly starved to death. Sidearm sent out search parties." Goldfinger flapped her hand. "The download console was next to the drinks."

Next to Breakdown, Knock Out let out a sound, like a sigh that had gotten halfway out of his mouth, given up, and then decided to go back to sleep.

"There was a map?" He repeated weakly.

"That's what I said." Goldfinger stopped suddenly and tugged open a door that Breakdown hadn't noticed. "Here."

They stepped outside into a back alley of Iacon. Goldfinger leapt over the body of a crashed car and pointed east.

"Just walk this way. I'm pretty sure Kaon is in this direction." She rushed over to them and held their hands, her eyes sparkling brightly. "I'm so happy for you two. Keep your happiness, y'know; don't let it slip away. It's so wonderful to be in love, isn't it?"

"Best feeling in the world." Knock Out wheezed from where he was crushed into Breakdown's side. Breakdown hoped his expression looked more like a smile than a grimace. Well, if he had to pretend to want to be conjunx with someone, Knock Out wasn't the absolute worst person on Cybertron. For example, there were insecticons, and that very ugly Tripredacus 'bot, and Swindle. Really, Knock Out was a comparative catch.

"You two have all my fondest wishes." Goldfinger engulfed them in a hug again, stretching her arms to reach around their combined bulk. "Oh, gosh, do you have my commlink? You _need_ to send me pictures!"

She clapped her com-code to Breakdown and Knock Out before they could pull away and the request pinged in Breakdown's inbox.

"Okay, now send me yours!"

Aside from his general disinclination to give a mostly stranger his commlink, Goldfinger would see the city he was registered in, and his caste and employment information. _Not_ something he wanted strangers seeing. Breakdown grimaced. "Uh, y'see, my radio is… broken, because of uh—"

"Look!" Knock Out grabbed his chin and yanked his head around, probably further than it was meant to turn. Well, if he was dead, then he didn't have to come up with any more stupid excuses.

Breakdown struggled to focus his eyes—Knock Out had turned him directly towards the small sun Cybertron was currently orbiting—and keyed in on a small black blur, loping steadily southward.

"Ravage?" He gaped.

"Ravage!" Knock Out confirmed excitedly. He waved a half hearted salute to Goldfinger. "Sayonara, sweetie!"

He flipped into alt-mode and sped off towards the increasingly tiny speck that was Ravage. Breakdown waved away the duct he kicked up and took a few hulking steps after him. He turned to Goldfinger. She looked mostly confused and a little angry.

"Uh. I'll call when we get back from the honeymoon."

He transformed and drove off after Knock Out before she could start yelling. Knock Out was fast, even for a low slung, sporty car, and he had a few miles on Breakdown before Breakdown even managed to hit his top speed (a paltry hundred and twenty miles per hour; he was build to be sturdy, not quick). He switched to his infrared sensors and the world turned black. Two blinding flashes of heat flared in the blank grey. Breakdown plodded steadily towards them.

It was dark outside the cities. Iacon, Kaon, and the rest were originally built on energon wells—the ruptured veins of Primus himself, or so the legends went. That energon was piped up through the cities, providing all the power one could ever need and then some. When the rotation of Cybertron was unfavorable and the cities were darksided, that energon was used to light everything. However, it was dry out in the badlands, and the sun wasn't in their favor. Breakdown tried his headlights. They flickered on, sputtered, then cut out. Must've been damage from the fight. He dropped his speed slightly and diverted more power into his external sensors.

The road quickly crumbled from well kept tarmac to a sawtoothed ruin. He must have passed the border between Iacon and Kaon without noticing. Perhaps the borders weren't patrolled as well as Megatronus suspected they were, or perhaps the Iacon Council didn't think that someone would attempt to take an overland route when the interplanetary highways were so much better. Either way, it meant that Knock Out and the drone were slowing down. Ravage was still moving steadily, if a bit cautiously, picking his way over the jagged metal of Cybertron's surface, but Knock Out, low-slung as he was, couldn't clear the rubble. Breakdown tried not to feel smug as he crawled past Knock Out, who was hooked by the chassis on a sharp jut of metal.

Knock Out transformed with the sound of shearing metal and cursed loudly.

"My headlights!" He gasped, prodding the cracked glass. "And my grill! This will take forever to fix!"

If Breakdown currently had eyes, he would have rolled them.

"C'mon," he said instead, "let's keep following Ravage. We can go on foot."

He shifted into root mode, careful to choose a clear space to account for the mass shift that came with transforming. His headlights were already ruined; he didn't want to see what _else_ would be wrecked.

Breakdown took a few steps as he transformed and the ground shifted dangerously under his feet.

"Is this stable?" He called out, holding out his hands and keeping his mass low.

"Of course it is," Knock Out said flippantly, striding across the rugged landscape, "Perfectly stable, we can just walk across. Look, there's the drone."

Ravage was slowly jumping from outcropping to outcropping. Breakdown frowned.

"You sure?" He gestured towards the drone. "He looks cautious."

"It's a drone, who knows why it does anything. Come on."

Knock Out took two steps and the ground under his feet gave an ominous groan.

"Ahhh."

"Right, stable."

"Get rusted, you—"

The ground shattered beneath them. Breakdown tumbled down through the darkness, flipping blindly around his center of gravity. He lashed out, desperately grabbing for anything solid. Knock Out was shrieking somewhere—Breakdown couldn't tell if he was above or below; the chasm echoed, distorting his sense of distance and placement.

His sensors were too scrambled to give him a vertical location, but they chirped an alert when he hit terminal velocity.

He hit the ground a second after that.

His chest crushed upwards, crumpling his chassis. Breakdown rolled, pushed by momentum and the gently sloping ground towards the metal wall. His left shoulder took that impact, and he heard his front tire pop.

He stayed like that for a few moments, trying to refocus his systems and assess damage. Then Knock Out landed on him.

"Oof!"

The armor on his back dented, but his internal mechanisms were undamaged. Hook was good at what he did. He shifted, pushing Knock Out onto the ground.

"Watch the finish!" He hissed, a thread of pain obvious in his voice. Breakdown rolled his eyes. He was fine.

Breakdown maneuvered his arms under himself and pushed upwards against the ground. It was more straining that he liked to admit, but he eventually managed to heave himself to his feet.

"C'mon," he panted, reaching down for Knock Out, "up."

Knock Out batted around a bit, feeling for his hand in the gloom. Breakdown kneeled down and groped for his shoulder, then hauled him up. "Look at me. This is awful."

"Yeah. It really stung when you landed on me. Your lights work?"

"No." Knock Out tried and failed to switch his headlights on. The high pitched buzz of electricity draining into empty air where a connecting port _should_ have been hummed through the crevasse.

"Slag. Mine are out too. How long 'til we're sunside?"

He couldn't see, but he got the impression Knock Out was glaring at him, or, at least, glaring where he thought Breakdown was.

"Check the time yourself."

"I can't. It's broken." Breakdown paused. " _You_ broke it."

"What?" Knock Out had the audacity to sound offended. "I did no such thing."

"It was connected to my central plating, which _you tore off me_."

"Psh." There was a draft of air as Knock Out waved his hand. "That was Hook. Definitely. He's always so clumsy with wiring. I've tried to tell him otherwise but you know: you can't teach an old crane new tricks."

Breakdown vented hot air. "You always have a smooth explanation, don't you?"

"Well," Knock Out pressed a hand to Breakdown's arm—probably aiming for his chest and missed, "should I stutter?"

"You should keep your hands to yourself and start thinking of a way to get us out of here." Breakdown felt for the wall of the chasm. The metal was smooth, not nearly as jagged as the surface, but that was probably because—until a certain sports car decided to misplace his foot—it was protected from the weathering on the surface. But the how's and why's of the metal were irrelevant—what mattered was that Breakdown couldn't climb out, and even if he could, he couldn't see. Night vision was a bit of a misnomer—it still required _some_ light to function. Breakdown gritted his teeth.

"Slag."

"Oh, and you said _I_ was the smooth talker."

"You aren't gonna be talking at all if you don't shut up. Ah, scrap," Breakdown slammed his fist uselessly against the wall, "we're never gonna find Ravage now."

"Why do you even _care_? Do you honestly still expect me to believe this is about that _honor_ nonsense?"

"Shove off."

"Oh my, what wit he has. Honestly," Knock Out snapped, "at this point you're either completely stupid or braindead. Megatronus gave you an out and you failed to accept it and then you got _both of us_ into this mess! You shove off!"

"You did this to yourself."

"I know!" Knock Out shouted, whirling on him. He jabbed blindly into the darkness and managed to catch Breakdown's chest with his pointed finger. "I know! And I've been trying to get myself out for _years_ and Megatronus' little bloodbaths aren't helping and I get this _one chance_ to force that hulking idiot to make reparations to me and where am I now!?" Knock Out tossed his hands up. "Trapped in some forsaken cave and apparently about to elope!"

He slumped against the wall, exhausted by his outburst. His engine roared for a few more seconds, then died down into a near silent hum.

"You know," Breakdown said, sitting down next to him, "all things considered, you'd be my first choice if we were really getting married."

Knock Out snorted. "Why? You hate me. We hate each other. I would have thought the buzzsaw to the face would have said as much."

"It isn't that I don't like you," Breakdown explained, "and in fact when things calm down I'm strangely drawn to you, but it's just that, well, there haven't been any quiet moments. Also, I ruined all of my other relationships and I think my boss would have me shot on sight if I tried to go back to work."

Knock Out ignored the first half of his statement, thank Primus. "What did you do? Flip the schematics upside down or something?"

"Ah, I tried to flip some construction supplies. I was gonna sell 'em, then get 'em back for cheap from this mech I know. Bulkhead found out. It wasn't pretty and I was out a couple hundred shanix. Settled it with a debtor's match."

"That doesn't sound very honorable. I'm appalled." said Knock Out. He didn't sound very appalled. In fact he sounded a little bored. "I never would have expected _theft_ of you."

"Hey, you're the one who came up with that honor scrap. I just like to make sure someone isn't gonna come calling for me. And, y'know, repaying favors makes it even." Breakdown shrugged. "I was trying to make some extra money for the site. If I took a little off no one would notice, and Bulkhead takes on charity projects all the time—the other guys don't complain because they respect him, but I know we all have problems getting energon."

"Wooooow," Knock Out drawled, "I just committed malpractice."

"Like medical stuff?" Breakdown squinted in confusion.

"Yes, like medical stuff. I told you I wasn't always a graverobber."

"So what'd you do?" Breakdown shifted to look at Knock Out, or at least to where he thought Knock Out was. He could feel Knock Out's wide shoulder resting somewhere near his arm, but couldn't exactly gauge where his head would be.

"Ah, I _may_ have taken a bribe to accidentally on purpose kill one of my patients. Politics, you know."

"Primus. What happened?"

"He didn't die." Knock Out said flatly. "I miscalculated how much sedative to use. Take this as a lesson: never assume your patients don't do unreasonably massive doses of cyclic. Really, I gave him enough to kill _Metroplex_ and he got up the next day with nothing more than a headache. _Anyways_ , someone decided they didn't like that, life goes on, I lost my license. A tragic story, I know, but at least I still have my good looks."

He _did_ still have his good looks, but Breakdown wasn't about to agree with him.

"Pretty sorry pair we are."

"Oh, yes," Knock Out bemoaned, "a duo of screw ups, stuck in a hole in the planet, can't even catch a drone."

"And we're eloping."

"My commissioner will be so disappointed."

Breakdown snorted. "You were designed? I was a federal commission—part of a series of bulk laborers."

"Really? I'm shocked. You aren't half bad looking for state work."

The complement threw him off guard. "Ah, thanks."

They sat in silence for a few moments. Breakdown tried not to twiddle his thumbs, gave up, and discovered that his hands weren't nearly as jointed as he thought they were, because he ran out of new ways to twiddle within five minutes.

"So," he broke the silence, "how long 'til we're sunside?"

Knock Out groaned.

* * *

One chapter left! Are you excited? I am!


	8. Baddest man in the whole damned town

It was dim out, when Knock Out blearily onlined his optics. He wasn't in his tiny apartment, so he took a moment to grimace at himself and wonder who he had gone home with _this_ time.

Knock Out shifted, pulling himself upright. There was a 'bot lying under him; he was big and covered in mismatched armor. Knock Out took a moment to grimace at _him_. He sat back against the wall and tried to remember where he was. He looked up. Ah.

"Get up, you lug." He shoved Breakdown over onto his side and pushed himself to his feet. He looked around. In the light of sunside, the chasm they were trapped in was much more embarrassing. They were about fifty feet down, just shorter than their combined heights, by Knock Out's reckoning. The walls were smooth, to the extent that they looked polished, and were completely unclimbable. Knock Out ran his claws down the wall. The shriek of metal on metal made him wince, and when he pulled his hand away and examined the tips of his fingers, his claws were dulled.

"So, any plans?" He turned towards Breakdown. Breakdown had finally managed to push himself to his feet. He pressed a hand to his battered chest and his face twisted into a mildly pained grimace. Knock Out squashed down the minute slip of sympathy that threatened to well up along his circuits.

"Get out?" Breakdown groaned. "Guh, I feel awful."

Knock Out frowned. "Come here," he snapped his fingers.

Breakdown limped over to him. Knock Out rolled his eyes. Drama queen. Knock Out turned him around and pushed him down so he could reach Breakdown's head.

"Try and hold still, yes? I'd hate to send you into a cascade failure just when we're finally starting to get along." Without waiting for Breakdown to respond, he plugged into the cranial port and spiraled open the back of his head. Breakdown had they typical cheap mass produced cranial components, which was good, because those were pieces built to last—it was cheaper to make a long lasting part than it was to haul the thousands of federally commissioned 'bots back in for repairs every few decades, and _infinitely_ cheaper than someone bringing up a legal case for negligence.

Knock Out would know.

Knock Out found the cluster of nerve wires leading down Breakdown's spine and snipped a bright green one. Breakdown grunted, but didn't flinch. Knock Out closed his skull and unplugged himself, then slapped Breakdown on the shoulder.

"How's that feel? Still alive?"

"It feels," Breakdown paused, then straightened and rolled his shoulders, "good. No pain. How'd you do that?"

"Oh," Knock Out waved a hand, "I just cut one of your nerve relays; dulled your pain receptors."

"What?" Breakdown sputtered.

"You'll be _fine_. I'll just fix it when we get back to Kaon," he frowned, "if your Megatronus doesn't kill us, that is."

"Ah, right."

They both frowned.

"Any chance the drone wandered down here for a nap?" Knock Out suggested, squinting upwards. The planet was rotating more steadily now—someone must have triggered the horizontal boosters—and the star they were rotating made the landscape almost bright enough to see. He _couldn't_ see Ravage. "Too much to ask for, I guess. What are you doing?"

Breakdown didn't answer him and instead hurtled towards the wall. Knock Out dove out of his way, scrambling to get out of the range of impact. Breakdown hit the wall, kicked off with his foot and managed one, two, three steps before his hands scrabbled against the metal and his feet slid down the smooth surface to the floor.

He staggered back. "Well, that didn't work."

"Did you expect it to?" Knock Out said archly.

Breakdown looked at him.

"Whaaat?" Knock Out crossed his arms. "Look at the wall, we aren't climbing out."

Breakdown vented air, then stilled. "How much do you weigh?" He asked suddenly.

"Excuse me?"

"How much do you weigh?" Breakdown rushed over and grabbed Knock Out around the waist.

"Put me down!" Knock Out batted at his arms.

"Perfect!" Breakdown grinned and dropped him to his feet. He backed up and formed a triangle his fingers, raising it up to glance at the lip of the chasm. "C'mere."

Knock Out dusted himself off and cautiously walked over to Breakdown. "What are you doing?"

"Do you trust me?" Breakdown ignored him.

"What?"

"Do you trust me?"

"Ah, well, no, but I don't trust anyone. Don't take it personally."

"Good enough." Breakdown grabbed him under the arms. "Try not to flail too much."

"Wh—" He was cut off by Breakdown tossing him up and repositioning his hands. He spun around, steadily increasing in speed. At some point, probably right before he realized Breakdown was going to let go, Knock Out started shrieking.

Breakdown flung him upwards, throwing him like a hammer towards the sky.

For a few seconds, before the terror set in, it was quite nice being weightless. It made him understand why so many 'bots converted to flight frames after near death falls and suicide attempts. The wind rushed past his frame and if he offlined his eyes, it seemed like he could go like this forever.

Then gravity decided it wanted him back.

"No no no no no!" Knock Out lashed out with his hands, flailing recklessly. By some miracle of physics, he managed to grab the lip of the chasm with his claws. It look some rather undignified kicking and squirming, but he managed to haul himself back onto the surface. He rolled onto his front and took a few seconds to vent heavily.

"Knock Out?" Breakdown's voice echoed from the pit. "You make it?"

"Rust and die!" Knock Out stuck his hand over the edge and made a rude gesture at Breakdown.

Breakdown laughed. "You're fine. Here, catch."

A tow cable hit him in the center of his back. "Oof!"

He scrambled to his feet and tried to decide if it was worth throwing the cable back down. No, that was probably too mean. Besides, he wasn't actually that angry. Perhaps it had something to do with Breakdown being the one irritating him. He was finding that he actually didn't dislike Breakdown as much as he used to. Knock Out frowned, compartmentalized, and vowed to ignore anything else in that train of thought.

"You know I can't pull you up, right?" He drawled, absently spinning the cable in a small circle.

"No" Breakdown said sarcastically, "and here I was sure you could. A skinny thing like you, it'll be no trouble at all. Hook it around an outcropping."

Knock Out found a hunk of metal jutting out from the earth. It was sturdy enough to hold his weight, so it would have to do. He looked the cable around the metal and clipped the hook onto it.

"Ready!" He called down the chasm. The cable pulled taught, but it managed to hold Breakdown's weight. Knock Out rested flat on his front and peered down. Breakdown was slowly winching himself up. When he could, he rested his foot on a tiny outcropping in the metal, just to give himself an extra boost.

Knock Out reached down and grabbed his hand when he got close enough. Breakdown's hand engulfed his, but he only used Knock Out as a stabilizer while he grabbed the ledge and pulled himself over.

"It's stable, huh?"

"Stable enough. We're back up here, what more do you want?"

"After tonight? A gallon of high grade and a quiet place to drink 'til I forget my own name. You live alone?"

"Yes. Why?" Knock Out eyed him suspiciously.

"I got roommates. Also I probably got evicted."

"Are you inviting yourself to my house to get drunk?"

"That was the plan." Breakdown blearily looked up at him from where was collapsed on his back. "You don't want me to?"

Knock Out made a decision before he could regret it. "What I want is for you to bring the high grade. I make excellent cocktails."

"Alright." Breakdown accepted Knock Out's hand and hauled himself to his feet. "If we survive the next couple of hours, consider it a date."

Knock Out's grin froze on his face. "You aren't up to my usual standards, but I guess today has been a bit novel. " He shrugged and his expression relaxed. "What the frell."

Breakdown coughed static and pulled his hand away, absently brushing dust off his legs. "Ah, right. So, think we can make it back to Kaon without tripping over another plot device?"

"If we tread carefully." Knock Out brought up his holomap. "We're just east of the interplanetary highway. We can get on that and head south."

Knock out transformed into alt mode and carefully picked his was across the jagged terrain. His undercarriage still ached from getting caught on a spear of metal yesterday. Breakdown, although his alt mode was inarguably awful, had an easier time of it. He pulled ahead of Knock Out and found the flattest path. Knock Out tried to be irritated at him. It didn't work.

They pulled onto the highway more quickly than Knock Out had thought they would, which spoke measures to either Breakdown's excellent directions, or to their complete failure in getting anywhere without disaster striking.

Knock Out pulled ahead of Breakdown the second they hit tarmac. He let loose, opening his throttle as far as it could go. His engine thrummed hot, hot enough to burn, and his tires went loose with friction-heat. He blazed down the highway, at whatever hundreds of miles per hour his max speed was. He was pressing his gas flat against his floorboard and his speedometer needle was flat against the right side of the dial—he had exceeded the measurable speed. It just felt so _good_ to get out and burn his wheels flat after a night spent motionless.

He had fifteen miles on Breakdown when the first pang of guilt hit him. It was a bad one too. It almost felt like—Knock Out suppressed a shudder—affection. He slowed down, then rolled to a stop. It was actually in his best interest to drive a bit slower; he never took the opportunity to refuel, and driving like had been _devoured_ fuel. Right. _That_ was why he stopped. The more he repeated it to himself, the less it sounded like an obvious excuse.

"Took you long enough," he said when Breakdown finally caught up to him.

"We can't all be sports cars." Breakdown replied, chugging steadily down the road. Knock Out pulled out beside him and tried to curb his speed.

"Well, no, I suppose we can't," Knock Out preened, "but we _all_ want to."

Breakdown laughed. "If you say so."

—

They reached Kaon's border by nightfall, but the roads were too worn to be passable, so they made the rest of the journey to the gladiatorial pits on foot. Knock Out managed to slip inside without inciting Hook or Scrapper's ire, which was more successful than he normally was when sneaking back from a night out on the town. He even managed to guide Breakdown to Megatronus' door without getting horrendously lost. Obviously, it was a sign that they were about to be completely slagged by Megatronus and his weird lackey. Knock Out's luck tended to work that way.

"Sure you want to tell Soundwave you lost his drone?" Knock Out rested his hip on the wall outside of Megatrons' door. "You could always just not. He's a fighter, he'll die soon enough anyways. That's how I get out of most of my promises—wait 'til the other party dies."

"No." Breakdown said resolutely, knocking on Megatronus' door. "He deserves to know we didn't succeed. You staying?"

"Against my better judgement, yes."

The door slid open, and Knock Out was back to staring at Megatronus' looming bulk.

"You two." He didn't seem happy, but he didn't seem angry either. Yet. "You found Ravage?"

"Ah, about that," Breakdown waffled. "We, ah, well—"

"Ravage!" Soundwave rushed forwards and crouched down. Excitement sounded _wrong_ in his artificially flattened voice.

Breakdown looked behind himself, searching for whatever could have made Soundwave see drones when there weren't any. Then, Ravage pushed in-between his legs and strutted over to Soundwave, purring like a well-kept engine and butting its forehead against Soundwave's hand.

"Is that…" Knock Out stammered.

"Ravage?" Breakdown completed the sentence.

"You found him." Megatronus slapped them both on the back and stooped over to scratch Ravage under the chin. "Excellent."

"Ah, yes. Excellent." Knock Out said, distractedly. Why was the drone here? Where had it gone? Why had it come back now? Was it really just out to torment him? "I can't believe this."

"Yeah." Breakdown sounded just as lost as he did.

"All that effort. For nothing."

"Yeah."

"We fell down a pit."

"Yeah."

"There's a gang after us now."

Breakdown didn't say anything. Knock Out turned towards him.

"What, no echo? This is possibly the worst thing that's ever happened to me."

"You've just had a bad day, that's all."

Breakdown stilled for a moment, then rested his hands on Knock Out's shoulders. "Actually, for the past day, I've been thinking. Thinking about doing something."

Knock Out humored him. "What have you been thinking?"

Breakdown leaned in and pressed his mouth to Knock Out's. Knock Out tensed, then shrugged and returned the kiss, throwing his arms around Breakdown's neck and dipping backwards.

"You know this doesn't mean I forgive you for throwing me." Knock Out said when he pulled away.

"Oh?" Breakdown grinned. "Let's see if I can change your mind."

The music swelled.

Fin.

* * *

"Anyways," Knock Out said, closing the panel on Bumblebee's arm, "that's how we met. Alright, you're finished."

"That's it?" Bumblebee goggled.

"How'd you know about the parts you weren't there for?" Miko piped up from where she was draped over the railing.

"Why didn't you just use the locater beacon from the start?" Raf pushed his glasses up and glanced down at his notes, "Laserbeak had one, right?"

"Didn't Soundwave have that whole 'vow of silence' thing?"

"I lived in Iacon; there weren't mansions on the edge of town that were in driving distance of the wastes."

"Bah!" Knock Out threw his arms in the air, "Critics! All of you!"

"Knock Out, that's literally just the plot of 'Bringing Up Baby'."

Knock Out squinted at Bumblebee. "What's that?"

"Seriously," Bumblebee rubbed his forehead, "you made us watch it like a week ago."

"Never heard of it in my life. Now," he clapped his hands together, "out of the med bay, I have things to do, equipment to clean," he eyed them, "unless of course, you'd like to help?"

"What's that Bulk'?" Miko yelled stiltedly, "You need me to come and help you right away? Sure!" She wagged her finger at Knock Out, "I'm gonna get the story out of you, just you wait!"

"You'll be waiting forever, squishy." Knock Out said offhandedly, waving her out.

"I gotta go too, Bee," Raf pushed himself to the floor, "I told Mama I'd be home soon."

"Sure thing, Raf. I'll meet you by the space bridge." He waited until Raf had left before he turned to Knock Out.

"We still on for tomorrow?"

"Oh my, Bug," Knock Out pressed a hand to his own chest, tilting his head at Bumblebee, "I had no idea you felt that way, why, I would have polished up."

"Yeah, hilarious. You've only made that joke a dozen times now. Racing, tomorrow, you and me. Do I need to use smaller words?"

"Yes, yes, I'll beat you tomorrow. Shoo, shoo," Knock Out brushed him to the door. He shut the door behind him and smiled to himself.

"Never seen it before in my life." He said resolutely, then started piling his tools into the autoclave.

He waited until the room was quiet, and the footsteps had faded away, then quietly switched on a song. It echoed in the quiet, and he smiled to himself.

"I can't give you anything but love, baby…"

The End

* * *

What's a fourth wall?

Alright, this brings the story to a close. Thanks everyone who commented or favorited or even just read along!


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